


In the Shadow of Chipping Clodbury

by mundungus42



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Goblins, Pottermore, Revisionist History, Social Justice, wand rights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 18:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7651003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mundungus42/pseuds/mundungus42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ambush by goblin wand rights activists forces Hermione to delve into the secrets of the past in hopes of making equality for all magical beings a reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an Anonymous prompt for the the 2016 Summer SSHG Promptfest on LiveJournal. As this is a completed fic that was written in response to a specific prompt, concrit is not being solicited. 
> 
> Prompt: Goblin parents seek to have one of their children enrolled at Hogwarts, and it causes a storm of debate in the wizarding world. Hermione and Severus take opposite sides.
> 
> ©2016 Mundungus42. All rights reserved. This work may not be archived, reproduced, or distributed in any format without prior permission from the author. Permission may be obtained by e-mailing the author at mundungus42 at yahoo dot com. This is an amateur, non-profit work, and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights held by any lawful holders.

There was really no way Hermione could have known that she was walking into a trap.

The letter in her pocket, addressed to a Mr. Nigel P. Tricklebank of Eltham, was the same as the others she had delivered since accepting the post of Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts, and the red brick maisonette at number 17 Granby Road wasn't all that different than the house she herself had lived in when Minerva McGonagall delivered her letter all those years ago.

She swallowed hard, ignoring the painful twinge she felt recalling her parents' pride on that day, which, like this one, had been sunny and filled with the smell of roses. She squared her shoulders as she briskly mounted the steps to the front door, filled with a renewed sense of purpose. She was going to change a child's life today, a child who had likely had trouble fitting in and knew that he was a bit different from other children. Mustering her best Minerva McGonagall expression, she raised her hand and rang the doorbell.

The curtains in the picture window at the front of the house fluttered slightly, as though someone had peeked through them to see who was standing on the doorstep. She could make out the pad of bare feet approaching the door and the floorboards squeaking as the person on the other side of the door peered through the peephole.

She straightened her robes, which could easily pass for an overcoat, and slid her hand into her pocket to trace her fingers over the wax seal on the envelope.

“What do you want?” came a gruff male voice from within.

“Are you Henry Tricklebank?” asked Hermione.

“Who wants to know?” The voice wasn't at all friendly, but Hermione had heard worse.

“My name is Hermione Granger,” she said, falling back on the familiar speech she'd prepared. “I'm a teacher at a school for gifted children. It's my pleasure to inform you that by virtue of his special abilities, your son Nigel has been awarded a place at my school. I have a letter here—”

“Put it through the mail slot.”

Hermione slid the envelope through the brass slot and listened as Tricklebank opened the envelope and unfolded the letter within.

“Now, I'm sure the contents of the letter may come as a shock to you and Gretchen,” said Hermione. “But this is no joke. Your son has special abilities that have been manifesting almost since his birth. Surely you can remember incidents involving your son that defy explanation?”

Encouraged by the lack of argument from within, Hermione continued. “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is one of the finest schools of magic in the world. Should you allow your son to attend, he will be instructed in many different types of magic until he reaches his majority at the age of seventeen.”

“Oh, like with magic wands?” sneered the voice.

“That's correct,” said Hermione, sighing inwardly. “If you would be so kind as to let me in, I would be happy to demonstrate the sorts of skills your son would learn.”

“Now hang on,” said Mr. Tricklebank. “How much does this school of yours cost?”

“If money is an issue, certain fees may be waived, particularly in the case of someone as precocious as Nigel. Magical children rarely manifest magic as early and as frequently as Nigel did.”

“So you say,” said Mr. Tricklebank, sounding decidedly cagey. “All right. Say Nigel wants to go to this school and his mother and I decide to let him. Where is he supposed to get a magic wand and a hat with stars on it and all that rubbish?”

“I or one of the Hogwarts staff will be happy to escort your family to a magical neighbourhood of London where Nigel's school supplies, including a wand, may be purchased.”

“What if the stores won't sell to the likes of us?”

Hermione smiled. “Just show them Nigel's Hogwarts letter. That should be all that's needed in order to purchase everything you need. Now, I'm sure you have many questions—”

There was a series of loud clicks as the locks and bolts on the door were unfastened, and the door swung open to reveal a male goblin, who, unlike all the stiffly formal goblins she had met previously, wore only ratty trousers and a somewhat nasty grin.

“I think this is all we'll need,” he said, brandishing the Hogwarts letter.

Hermione tried not to let her surprise show at finding a goblin, who was presumably the guardian of a magical child, living in the suburbs of London. She fixed her most prim Minerva McGonagall expression on her face and extended her hand to shake. “How do you do. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Tricklebank.”

“I prefer to go by my nickname, Hodrod the Horny-Handed,” he said, shaking hers with a hand whose knuckles were indeed covered in what appeared to be pointed warts.

Hermione frowned. She'd heard the name Hodrod the Horny-Handed before. Shortly after the war, if she recalled correctly, he'd been involved in violence of some sort. As Hermione cast her mind back nearly twenty years to recall the circumstances, Hodrod raised his horny hand to his mouth and called upstairs.

“Nigel!” He said, “Come meet Professor Granger. She has something to tell you.”

A tiny goblin child came sliding down the bannister and wrapped his arms around Hodrod's waist.

“This is Nigel P. Tricklebank?” asked Hermione.

“In the flesh,” said Hodrod, patting his son's head affectionately.

“It's lovely to meet you, Nigel,” said Hermione, pointedly ignoring the chorus of warning bells that were now clanging in the back of her mind as memories of the Chipping Clodbury Riot of 1999 and Hodrod's arrest surfaced. “Unless I'm mistaken, it's your eleventh birthday today, isn't it?”

“That's right!” piped Nigel. “Is that my Hogwarts letter?”

“That it is,” said Hodrod, handing it to him.

“Brilliant!” said Nigel. “Mum, look at this!”

“That's nice,” said a female goblin, who was sitting in the gloomy sitting room on a dust cloth-covered sofa and crocheting a doily. The rest of the furniture was similarly covered. Clearly this house wasn't actually being lived in. But this was the house in which Nigel P. Tricklebank had manifested magic numerous times over the years.

It was then that Hermione realised how odd it was that none of Nigel's many magical accidents had been serious enough to dispatch a Magical Reversal Squad. Obviously, the goblins had engineered an impressive feat of misdirection, and Hermione suspected she was only just beginning to understand how and to what end.

While Nigel read the letter and equipment list aloud to his mother, Hermione risked a glance at Hodrod, who was lurking in the entryway, smirking.

“You told your son all about Hogwarts, I suppose?” asked Hermione mildly, doing her best to keep her growing anger out of her voice.

“Of course,” said Hodrod, smirking. “He's been written down for it since he was born, hasn't he?”

“Yet you didn't see fit to tell him about Clause Three of the Code of Wand Use?”

“You said all he needed was his Hogwarts letter in order to buy everything he needs for Hogwarts,” said Hodrod, “including a wand.”

“I said that should be all he needs,” hissed Hermione. “However, a letter obtained through deliberate deceit isn't going to compel Mr. Ollivander to do business with you, and it certainly isn't going to change the ban on goblin wand use.”

“We'll see,” said Hodrod, who looked positively gleeful. “Thank you very much for stopping by, Professor.”

Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again. There was no way that a goblin, particularly the child of a goblin who'd stolen a wand, Shrunk three wizards, and attempted to stomp them to death, was going to be allowed to attend Hogwarts. Obviously, Hodrod had been planning this for years, and she needed to speak to the Headmaster immediately.

“Good day, Mr. Tricklebank,” said Hermione, addressing the child.

“Bye, Professor,” said Nigel, running over to her with a toothy grin. “See you in September!”

Tamping down a flare of guilt over the child's inevitable disappointment, she shook Nigel's hand and gave him a tight smile.

There was a bright flash of light from the doorway next to the stairs, and Hermione spun around, wand raised, to find Hodrod holding a camera.

She scowled at him. “One for the album?” she asked sarcastically.

“It's not every day that a lad gets his Hogwarts letter,” said Hodrod. “Do tell that Headmaster of yours I said hello, won't you?”

“Count on it,” said Hermione shortly, and Apparated to the front gate of Hogwarts.

She waved her wand and sent her otter Patronus off towards the Headmaster's tower with the simple message, _Filius, we have a problem_.

Judging from the trio of owls bearing red envelopes zooming in the direction of his tower, she suspected he might already know.

  


Not for the first time, Hermione found the door to the headmaster's office open, but there was no path discernible among the piles of sheet music, bound scores, phonograph cylinders, and towers of books. It was, however, remarkably free of shrieking red envelopes. Filius Flitwick himself was standing next to the fire, whose flames were bright green and contained the head of Fleur Weasley, her ex-sister-in-law.

“Best not to speculate until we have the whole story,” Filius was saying. “Oh!” he exclaimed, spotting Hermione in the doorway. “She's here. You'd better come through, my dear.”

“Victoire!” shouted Fleur, her disembodied head turning to look behind her, “If your father arrives before I am home, tell him I have gone to have tea with the Headmaster, yes? One moment, Filius.”

Filius stepped back from the fire. “Please excuse the mess,” he said to Hermione, clearing a path to the chair opposite his desk with a wiggle of his finger. “I've been trying to decide on a Mermish opera chorus for the choir to sing next term, since everyone seemed to like the folk songs we did last year. I thought it might dovetail nicely with Charlie's Care of Magical Creatures section on Merfolk.”

“It's fine,” said Hermione, picking her way through the mess. “But whatever you choose, I hope the keyboard reduction won't be as beastly as it was for the folk songs. I don't like having to charm the spinet. It feels like cheating.”

Filius laughed merrily. “I'll try to find something _a capella_ , then,” he said. “Now, can I offer you a cupcake?” he said, conjuring a second chair identical to the first.

Hermione smiled wryly at being offered the same treat Filius gave to unhappy students, but accepted a cupcake from the tin that Filius removed from a drawer in his desk.

There was a whoosh from the fireplace, and Fleur Weasley strode into the room.

“Thank you so much for coming at such short notice,” said Filius said to her, holding out the tin of cupcakes to her.

“I know you would not ask if it were not vital,” said Fleur, ignoring the cupcakes and lowering herself elegantly into the chair next to Hermione's. “Not so soon before our July issue goes to bed.”

“Of course not,” said Filius, at whose serious tone Hermione had to bite back a smirk. Fleur had become a minor celebrity in the home-maker set for her monthly magazine about fashion, design, and social mores. Hermione found it all rather frivolous, but she had to admit that Fleur had created for herself the ideal profession for someone with beauty, style, and blunt opinions.

As if sensing Hermione's amusement at her expense, Fleur turned to her with an imperious expression. “I ought to 'ave known you would be involved,” she said.

“What precisely is that supposed to mean?” asked Hermione, bristling.

“Ladies,” said Filius, with a mildly reproachful look at each of them. “We are here about very serious matters. Please be courteous to each other. Ah, there's the _Evening Prophet_!” he said, waving his wand to open the window where a harried-looking owl bearing a newspaper was perched on the sill. There was a loud buzzing and crackling sound outside the tower that diminished as the window closed behind the owl.

“A special edition?” said Fleur, giving Hermione an arch look. “Impressive.”

Filius gave the owl a treat and a pat before sending it on its way. “Let's survey the damage, shall we?” he asked, unrolling the parchment and holding it out for Hermione and Fleur to read.

Hermione fought the urge to sink down in her chair when she saw that the front was emblazoned with a blown-up Wizarding photo of herself shaking the hand of Nigel P. Tricklebank, who was grinning ear-to-ear and brandishing his Hogwarts letter. The caption read, “Activist Hermione Granger invites an unknown goblin child attend Hogwarts. Photograph by Henry Tricklebank,” which made Hermione splutter. They didn't even mention her title as Deputy Headmistress! And the ruddy cheek of Hodrod submitting the photograph under his Muggle alias! Hermione's scowl deepened when she saw the name of the lead article's author, and even more when she read the piece.

**_GOBLIN RECEIVES HOGWARTS LETTER_ **  
_Mixed Blood Loyalties Undoubtedly to Blame ___

_By Gretchen Tricklebank_

_Today, Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry delivered a Hogwarts letter to a goblin child living in suburban London. Miss Hermione Granger, who was sacked as Deputy Head of Magical Law Enforcement after rowing with her ex-husband, Auror Ron Weasley, over her persistently wrong-headed attempts to grant magical beings the same rights as witches and wizards, delivered the letter. As she presented it to the goblin, she said that the letter “should be all that [the goblin] needs to buy his school supplies, including a wand.”_

_“Of course we don't sell wands to goblins,” said Garrick Ollivander, venerable wandmaker and owner of Ollivander's Wand Shop in Diagon Alley. “Even if it weren't illegal, I don't know that I have any measuring tapes short enough.” However, as was seen in last year's raid on Knockturn Alley, in which nearly a hundred unweighed wands were seized by Aurors, not all purveyors of magical objects are as upstanding as Mr. Ollivander._

_Miss Granger, a Muggleborn, obviously takes the plight of other lesser beings personally. Her classmates from Hogwarts recall with amusement her attempt to free the school's House Elves by leaving knitted hands and socks for them to find in her room. Her equally clumsy attempt to force Hogwarts to give wands to goblins will likely make her no friends among goblins or wizards and may even amount to Criminal Conspiracy._

_Though Hogwarts Headmaster Filius Flitwick had no comment at the time of printing, it is not difficult to imagine that Miss Granger's audacious plan was executed with his full support, given that he himself is the grandson of Guthrack the Grumpy, a full-blooded goblin. Whether the Aurors will be brave enough to move against the conspirators at Hogwarts remains to be seen, but decisive action must be taken, and soon._

_**A Fraught History, Goblin-Wizard Relations from 1630 to Chipping Clodbury** Page 2_  
_**What Exactly IS Clause Three of the Code of Wand Use, and Why Does It Matter?** Page 3_  
_**Worst Case Scenario: Goblins With Wands and Protecting Your Children** Page 4_

Hermione felt her face grow hot with anger. “This is outrageous!” she declared, slamming her hand down on Filius's desk. “There certainly is a conspiracy afoot, but I didn't have a sodding thing to do with it!”

Fleur looked amused. “What do you think we should do, Filius?”

“I think we should hear Hermione's side of the story,” he said, offering them both cupcakes once again.

Fleur wrinkled her nose and waved them away. Hermione selected a fudgy-looking confection. Filius's gentle, understanding expression was as much a balm to Hermione's frazzled nerves as the chocolate was to her tongue. 

She took a deep breath and relayed the tale of her trip to Eltham and spared no detail. Filius nodded sympathetically at all the right moments and even squeaked when she revealed the identity of the ersatz Henry Tricklebank. To her surprise, Fleur made no snide comments.

“I must say,” said Filius, nibbling daintily on his own cupcake, “it was rather ingenious to use Muggle naming conventions to fool us into thinking the lad was Muggle-born.”

“Ingenious, yes,” said Hermione, “but who on earth told him that the Quill and Book of Admittance record all magical births, not just humans? It's hardly common knowledge.”

“I didn't know,” said Fleur. “And I have read every edition of _Hogwarts, A History_.”

“The first edition wasn't printed until 1650, decades after the first Goblin Rebellion,” said Filius. “By then, efforts to elevate human wizards and witches above other magical beings, especially goblins and elves, were well underway, and it wouldn't do for it to be known that the Founders themselves were incapable of differentiating between goblin and wizarding magic.”

Hermione sighed. “I should never have accepted the Deputy Head position,” she said.

Fleur tutted, which Filius and Hermione ignored. “Why do you say that?”

“I've made Hogwarts a target for wand-rights extremists,” said Hermione. “It was one thing when I was at the Ministry. They were equipped to handle this sort of thing. Hogwarts isn't.”

“Do not be absurd,” said Fleur. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“I'm the one with my picture splashed across the bloody _Evening Prophet_. I rather think that means it has a lot to do with me,” said Hermione.

“Think,” said Fleur, biting off the final consonant. “You say the book wrote down the boy with a Muggle name when he was born, _n'est-ce pas_? That was eleven years ago. You were not at Hogwarts then.”

“But Filius was,” said Hermione, turning to face him. “You'd just been made Headmaster. But why would they target you? Because you're allowed to have a wand?”

Filius nodded sadly. “Why I should be allowed to carry a wand when my cousins aren't is a matter of much contention. Certain elements see wand-carriers like me as colluders who have sacrificed our people's struggles for personal gain.”

“And Hodrod is one of those elements,” said Hermione.

“It is very simple,” said Fleur impatiently. “Goblins despise those of us with mixed blood even more openly than wizards do.”

“But wizards have laws protecting those with mixed blood from discrimination,” said Hermione. “I wrote them.”

“As if that's going to get an 'alf-giant a job working in a china shop or a werewolf work as a nanny,” scoffed Fleur.

“While my blood status may make me an attractive target for a manufactured scandal, there's somewhat more to it than that,” said Filius mildly. “How much do you know about Hodrod the Horny-Handed?”

“Only that he was behind the Chipping Clodbury riot in 1999,” said Hermione. “He tried to kill three wizards with a stolen wand.”

“Technically, he only Shrunk them with the stolen wand,” said Filius. “He tried to kill them by stomping. Poetic justice, really.”

Hermione blinked in surprise at hearing Filius express support for violence. “How so?”

“What _The Daily Prophet_ didn't consider newsworthy is what precipitated the attempted stomping,” said Filius. “Hodrod's wife Gangert was nearly killed when those wizards charmed a one-tonne marble statue to disperse Hodrod and his allies, who were protesting wand restrictions at the annual Experimental Charms and Transfiguration Society meeting. The animated statue stepped on her. Crushed her pelvis and both of her legs. She nearly died. Dreadful thing.”

Fleur swore under her breath in French.

“I never heard that,” said Hermione softly.

“You weren't meant to. The wizards to blame were well-connected, so it became a story about a goblin who stole a wand and attempted murder instead of about a husband's revenge on the men who nearly killed his wife. If the Brotherhood of Goblins hadn't insisted on taking Hodrod into goblin custody, he'd have spent the rest of his life in Azkaban.”

Hermione wanted to argue with him, but having been Deputy Head of Magical Law Enforcement prior to coming to Hogwarts, she knew all too well how arbitrary and punitive laws governing non-human magical beings were before she set herself to dismantling as many of them as possible. “You're probably right.”

“Of course he is,” said Fleur. “I do not like goblins. They treated me like dirt while I worked at Gringotts. But I still feel sorrow for 'ow many suffered and died when Voldemort's Ministry took control of the bank. The Brotherhood of Goblins was in fragments when Chipping Clodbury happened. It is a miracle that they were able to secure Hodrod's release.”

“I don't suppose charges were ever brought against the three wizards who charmed the statue?” asked Hermione.

“No,” said Filius. “That was part of the deal to secure Hodrod's release. But they were convicted _in absentia_ by the goblins. And the Experimental Charms and Transfiguration Society banned the members who had been involved for life.”

Something in Filius's tone made Hermione suspect that he had been a driving force in the decision.

“Now that Hermione is on the same page with us,” said Fleur briskly, “we must decide what to do.”

“I'm going to owl Rubeus, Firenze, and Winky. They might not all wish to involve their communities, but it's only fair to let them know what's going on. I'll draft a statement based on tonight's events, likely to be delivered first thing in the morning. And I shall have to answer these at some point,” he said, looking regretfully at the stack of parchment on the corner of his desk. As if in response, another sheet appeared on top of the stack. Hermione could read the boldface capital letters from where she sat.

THEY TOOK OUR GOLD AND NOW THEY'VE COME FOR OUR MAGIC! YOU WILL GO DOWN IN HISTORY AS THE HEADMASTER WHO LET IT HAPPEN!

To her surprise, another sheet of parchment appeared, fluttering softly against the previous one. 

HALF-BREEDS AND MUDBLOODS GO BACK TO THE SCUMMY HOLE YOU CRAWLED OUT OF!

Hermione stared at the vitriolic message for a moment before the knut dropped. “Are those Howlers?”

“Oh yes. The dratted things aggravate my tinnitus, so I added a matrix to the tower's protections that converts them to printed messages.”

That explained the crackling sound outside the window. Hermione smiled at Filius's ingenious solution to the bane of every Hogwarts Head. 

“I cannot do much until we finish with the July issue,” said Fleur. “But I will work with you on an editorial supporting wands for goblins. It will be _outré_ and continental. But I will first cast the charms you requested on Hermione.”

“Wonderful!” said Filius, beaming. “Have you any questions, Hermione?”

“Erm, yes,” said Hermione, looking at Fleur's raised wand with concern. “What exactly am I to be doing?”

Fleur sighed, as though Hermione were a particularly thick child. “You will go back to this Tricklebank house and find their tunnel entrance. Once you have found it, follow it until you find Hodrod and become his ally.”

“I fear I've misheard you,” said Hermione. “I thought you just told me to extend an olive branch to someone who just raked me through the mud to further his cause.”

“Hodrod knows we're sympathetic to his fight for wand rights, but he obviously didn't trust that we would help, which is why he's forcing our hand,” said Filius. “We need to respond with an open hand, not a fist. All you need to do is convince him that our support isn't contingent upon conforming to our cultural standards.”

“Like not stabbing your allies in the back?” snapped Hermione. “Look, you both know I've always supported the rights of all magical beings to carry wands. But I don't like this. I haven't anything against Nigel P. Tricklebank himself, but this isn't a genuine attempt to resolve a centuries-old injustice, this is provocation. Deception. Extortion by media firestorm. I cannot condone this.”

Fleur and Filius exchanged glances, and Fleur let out a nasty laugh. “Now we see just how far her support goes—only so far as it flatters her ego.”

Hermione whirled to face her. “I sacrificed everything to fight discriminatory laws and overturn unfair convictions. I think that's had a more positive effect on lives than making housewives feel inadequate if they fail to charm their children's serviettes before meals. You've got some nerve lecturing me about my ego!”

Fleur's nostrils flared. “Yet you cannot see the flock for all the snidgets.”

“My dear, I don't think you realise precisely what's at stake,” said Filius, giving Hermione a sad look that she had seen aimed at students who had given incorrect answers in class but had never before received. It wasn't a pleasant experience. “This isn't merely about wand rights. What we have here is a golden opportunity to force the goblins' hands as much as they seek to force ours.”

“You don't mean exchanging wand lore for magesmithery,” said Hermione, frowning.

Fleur buzzed her lips dismissively, but Filius laughed. “If you can convince them to do that, you'd deserve an Order of Merlin,” he said. “But I rather thought we might broker an accord between the Brotherhood of Goblins and the Ministry of Magic to agree on basic protections for those with mixed blood, which paves the way for extending wand rights to all magical beings.”

“So everybody wins except me,” grumbled Hermione, who knew she was being unfair even as she spoke. “Fine,” she sighed. “I'll do it.”

Filius beamed. “I knew you would. You're a credit to your house, my dear. Fleur, if you would be so kind?”

Hermione was savagely glad to see that Fleur was still glowering at her. It was much easier to put her own objections aside when Fleur appeared to be nearly as irritated by Hermione as Hermione was by her.

“First of all,” said Fleur, “you will never be able to squeeze down a goblin hole like zat.”

She waved her wand at Hermione, and suddenly, the room grew much larger. She nearly fell off the chair in her disorientation.

“You may feel slightly dizzy,” said Fleur, unnecessarily, aiming her wand at Hermione once more.

Hermione squawked in protest as Fleur levitated her up on to Fillius's desk. She realised that standing next to the Headmaster would aid Fleur in disguising her, but it didn't make being magic-handled any more pleasant.

Filius smiled at her, and Hermione was shocked by how much more potent the Headmaster's smile was when they stood eye to eye.

“Rather on the tall side, isn't she?” he asked Fleur.

“Not at all,” said Fleur. “Height is an advantage in negotiations. You will want to make the fine adjustments before I apply the final charms.”

Filius beamed at Fleur before turning to Hermione. “I'm afraid there's no telling exactly what you'll encounter before you find Hodrod, so it would be best for you to go completely incognito. If you'll excuse the liberty,” he said, pointing his wand at her. “I'll need to make some additional adjustments. You can charm them off with a simple _Finite Incantatem_.”

“Is this strictly necessary?” asked Hermione, trying not to wince.

“Humans are forbidden to be in goblin territory without documents from the Brotherhood of Goblins,” said Fleur. “You would be arrested as a spy if you were caught.”

“Where on earth do you expect this goblin hole to lead?” asked Hermione, exasperated.

“Who can say?” said Fleur. “But there are at least as many goblins in Britain as there are wizards and witches. Their towns are unplottable, but there must be dozens.”

“This is absurd,” complained Hermione. “I'll be caught before I can even get down the goblin hole, if I can even find it.”

“Not if we do our jobs properly,” said Filius. “Now, if you'd just hold out your hands for a moment and be still. That's good.”

It was an odd sensation to feel her digits, ears, and nose extend. Seeing around the nose would certainly take some getting used to.

“Yes,” said Filius, a note of pride in his voice, “I think that will do.”

“She looks horrible,” said Fleur. “You didn't need to make her so ugly.”

“I don't want Hodrod to think we're setting a honeypot trap,” said Filius.

“There is no need for her to be 'ideous,” said Fleur, decisively. “At least let me fix her hair.”

“I wouldn't have known I was hideous if you hadn't said anything,” said Hermione.

“Very well,” said Filius to Fleur. “If you think it necessary.”

“We also do not want Hodrod to be insulted by sending a disreputable negotiator.”

Hermione had to admit, Fleur's hair charms were sure and quick, with no painful tugging. She caught sight of herself reflected in the window, and she was surprised to see that her hair was darker and braided into a remarkable crown atop her head.

“You may not have any appreciation for the domestic arts,” said Fleur to Hermione, “but you may walk into any goblin dwelling with your head held high.”

“Unless the ceiling is too low,” said Filius, giggling.

“Hush,” said Fleur, smiling a little at the Headmaster. “I have a few more charms for you,” said Fleur, waving her wand at Hermione once more. “This should allow you to sense goblin spells, though you will have to divine their intent on your own. This is a translation charm so that you will hear Gobbledygook as English and goblins will perceive your English as Gobbledygook. And this will hide your human magical signature, including these charms, so that you will seem to be a goblin to any human barriers. It will not survive a complex truth enchantment like a Thief's Downfall, but it is unlikely that you will encounter one outside Gringotts.”

Hermione was impressed with Fleur's thoroughness. “Anything else I should know?” she asked.

“Do not enter any home without permission,” said Fleur, “and you must always knock twice, and never three times. Never look another lady in the eye for an extended period of time. And whatever you do, don't use your wand unless you want everybody to know you're there.”

“I can't go without it,” said Hermione. “I need it to get to Eltham. And I need to be able to Apparate out if it all goes pear-shaped.”

“Perhaps it could be Transfigured into a different shape,” suggested Filius. “Something decorative like a piece of jewellery?”

“Would you, Fleur?” asked Hermione, holding out her vine and unicorn wand.

“ _Absolutment_ ,” said Fleur, taking the wand and placing it on Filius's desk. At Fleur's muttered incantation, the wand curled in on itself and flattened, then began to shimmer and gleam as the wood transmuted to silver and gemstones. When Fleur withdrew her wand, the wand had been Transfigured into a beautiful cuff bracelet of sapphires and white gold.

“It's stunning,” breathed Hermione.

“It is a goblin betrothal band,” said Fleur.

“Why Fleur, what will your husband say?” asked Hermione, taking the tiny bracelet and slipping it on to her wrist.

Fleur snorted. “That should deter any unwanted attention, unlikely though it may be. And if not, you can still use it to hex, even though your disguise would be useless thereafter.”

“There's truly no way I can convince either of you to accompany me?” asked Hermione.

Fleur and Filius exchanged looks. “Not possible, I'm afraid,” he said. “Mrs. Weasley and I are both registered half-bloods. There are no spells powerful enough to let either of us pass into goblin territory undetected.”

“And you honestly think I'll have better luck? Goblins hate me. I can't even keep money with Gringotts because I lose a bit of it every day, thanks to new fees they invent just for me.”

“But they haven't registered your blood,” said Filius. “That's the difference.”

Hermione couldn't repress a shudder at the idea of constantly tracking people using their blood. Even wizards hadn't gone that far.

“If they hate you so much, then be sure not to get caught,” said Fleur, shrugging.

“Thanks ever so much,” said Hermione, sarcastically, wiggling her bejewelled wrist at her beaded bag, which was sitting on the chair she had recently abandoned. She was pleasantly surprised that the bag zipped over to where she stood on the desk. “Question: would previously-charmed objects set off the goblins' alarms?”

“That depends,” said Filius. “What sort of charm do you mean?”

Hermione crawled headfirst into her beaded bag and rooted around until she found the stack of Galleons she sought and withdrew three of them. “These have a Protean charm on them,” she said. “I'd feel safer if I could contact one or both of you over the next few hours.”

“They will be suspicious of anyone carrying Wizarding currency,” said Fleur.

“But it's not a crime,” said Filius. “It should work,” he said, accepting the Galleons and handing one to Fleur. “Though I wouldn't use it unless you had to, just to be safe.”

Despite the madness of the past hours, Hermione felt much more confident with the Galleon in her pocket, resting heavily against her hip.

“Well,” she said. “I suppose I had better go.”

“Good luck, my dear,” said Filius. “Be sure to brief me when you get back. I'll likely need to modify my statement for tomorrow.”

“Of course,” said Hermione. “Good luck with the Howlers,” she said to Filius, “and the July issue,” she said to Fleur. To her surprise, the good wishes were devoid of sarcasm.

“ _Bon chance_ ,” said Fleur, tossing a handful of Floo Powder into the fire and stepping into the green flames.

Flilus shook Hermione's hand and patted her shoulder. “I've taken the liberty of lifting the Apparition barrier in this room,” he said. “Though you should go before someone on the outside discovers that.”

“You actually think I'll be able to get Hodrod on our side?” asked Hermione, doubtfully.

Filius glanced over her shoulder, and she followed his gaze to where two empty portrait frames hung in a darkened corner of the room. “I do hope so,” he said. “But if not, I expect you'll have an enlightening journey regardless.”

Hermione gave him a tight smile, turned on her heel, and Apparated.

  


The suburban neighbourhood of Eltham was significantly creepier by moonlight, particularly when one was less than half one's normal height. The street lights cast a flat, yellow light on the façades of the houses, which made them appear like a battlements that she would have to scale.

Fortunately the shadows were copious, and in her smaller form, she had no trouble sticking to them, though she had cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself for good measure.

The curtains were still drawn at number 17 Granby Road, and there were no lights on, to Hermione's relief. And the gate leading to the back yard opened with an obliging click at her silent _Alohomora_.

Apart from the notable abundance of roses, there was nothing unusual about the back yard. Hermione paused, closing her eyes and reaching out for any sign of goblin magic in the vicinity, but she sensed no magic apart from her own. She unlocked the back door of the house and reached up to turn on the lights. Thankfully, they came on and flooded the room with light, which made searching for the tunnel on the ground floor much easier. She bit back a laugh imagining Hodrod popping round the shops to have credit added to his PayPoint key.

Having found nothing on the ground floor—there were no personal items anywhere in the house, no active spells, the furniture hidden by dust cloths was shabby but unused, and there was nothing resembling a tunnel anywhere to be seen. Just to be thorough, she hauled herself up the now-enormous stairs to ensure there was nothing of interest above. She was only slightly out of breath by the time she reached the top, but if this modest flight had been a notable challenge, she couldn't imagine what it was like for Filius to navigate the hundred and forty-two wizard-sized staircases at Hogwarts. As expected, there were no clues or tunnels upstairs, so Hermione took a leaf from Nigel's book and slid down the bannister, switched off the lights, and began to walk along the exterior wall of the house.

There she found a ramshackle potting shed on the far side of the house that bore a suspiciously stout padlock, which shone with goblin magic. Eureka. Fortunately, the hinges of the door weren't spelled, and removing the hinge pins allowed her to pull the door open enough for her to squeeze inside.

The shed was filled to overflowing with flower pots, gardening equipment, sections of trellis, and a sack of what she was fairly certain was dragon dung. She methodically cleared each section of the floor until at last she found a rectangular metal plate set into the ground that had been hidden beneath a large decorative urn. The plate shone with goblin magic as well, and there was an iron ring that was just the right size for a small hand to pull on. 

Hermione dispelled her Disillusionment charm, took a deep breath, and sent up a silent prayer that one of the spells Fleur had cast on her would protect her from the enchantments that shone on the metal's surface.

As her fingers closed around the metal ring, there was a nearly inaudible click, and to Hermione's surprise, the plate slid easily to the side, revealing a set of steps leading to a platform about a meter and a half below. There were globes of light illuminating the platform, making it look almost welcoming. Obviously, the spell on the plate hadn't been defensive, merely a sensor of some sort.

Hermione cast one final glance at the shed behind her, and when she'd convinced herself that all was quiet, she stepped gingerly down the stairs to the platform below. She ignored the sepulchral sound of the metal door closing behind her.

At the far end of the entrance platform was a set of metal rails leading off into the darkness that reminded Hermione of the cart tracks at Gringotts. Unfortunately, the platform was otherwise empty. Hermione was about to cast an illumination spell downwards when she recalled Fleur's warning not to use her wand in goblin territory, which this most certainly was.

She was contemplating the feasibility of hanging from her scarf and sliding down one of the rails when she heard a mechanical sound coming from below. She looked down over the platform's edge and was surprised to see a light rising out of the darkness. As it drew closer, she realised that it was a cart with a lamp on the front rumbling its way up the track, which appeared to be spiralling up the perimeter of the circular shaft. To Hermione's great relief, the cart was empty and not bearing a goblin welcoming committee.

Less than a minute later, the cart ground to a halt at the platform, rotated the bucket so that the light was facing away from her, and a small door swung open to admit her. Taking one last glance at the trap door that led back up to the familiar streets of Eltham, Hermione stepped into the cart and pulled the door shut behind her. A slight tremor went through the cart, and it slid smoothly forward on the track and began to descend into the darkness.

Hermione had no notion of how far or how fast she was travelling along the track. Her stomach was in knots, which was a blessing, since it meant that she didn't think she would vomit from the seemingly endless downward spiral. At least the track was far smoother than the ones at Gringotts, and the cart was built for someone her size, so she could hold onto the edges of the basket and feel relatively secure. There was nothing to see in the glow of the lamp apart from earth reinforced by wooden scaffolding, and later, carved bedrock.

Just when Hermione was beginning to think she would never reach the bottom, there was an deafening whoosh of air, and Hermione found her cart hurtling through an immense, brightly-lit cavern alongside dozens of similar cart tracks and carts, some of which dwarfed her own and held perhaps a dozen goblins apiece, though it was difficult to count as they went rushing by.

Hermione forced her eyes from the track ahead of her and looked out over the goblin settlement, whose illuminated towers reached all the way to the cavern's ceiling. She had always imagined goblin villages to be dark, medieval-looking things, nothing like the glittering arches and illuminated alabaster spires that stretched up into the darkness. There were factories carved into the walls of the cave, and enormous tunnels through which something that looked like a high-speed train was emerging.

The cart wound its way around the cave's perimeter towards a less elegant and more sparsely lit part of town, and as the cart began to slow, the track drew close enough to the houses that she could see fires in hearths and inhale the sweet smell of roasting vegetables. It rattled to a halt behind a block of modestly-sized houses constructed of marble blocks. She glanced over the low wall into the back yards, which were comprised of crushed gravel and patches of green moss, and felt a pang of nostalgia when she saw that the nearest yard was strewn with toys.

But the nostalgia turned to excitement when a flash of red caught her eye, and she realised that it was a toy Muggle car. This had to be Hodrod's house.

Hermione glanced down the meandering row of houses, and seeing no-one outside, apart from a very elderly goblin three doors down bent over a patch of moss with a pair of scissors, she made her way to Hodrod's back door, which was carved with stylised representations of stalactites and stalagmites. Bearing in mind Fleur's warning, Hermione raised her hand and knocked twice on the door, then stood back, uncertain what she'd find.

She heard the sound of bare feet padding to the door, and the door flew open to reveal none other than Nigel P. Tricklebank engrossed in Muggle comic book.

“Hello,” said Hermione, hoping the Gobbledygook translation spell was working and that she looked different enough that the boy wouldn't recognise her. “Sorry to bother you, but is your dad at home?”

Nigel barely looked up from his book and shrugged. “He's at the pub with Grik and Stonker. I can get Mum, if you like.”

“No, that's fine,” said Hermione. “I'll look for him there. Where is it?”

“That way,” said Nigel, gesturing vaguely in the direction of town before shutting the door.

Well, Nigel didn't seem to suspect anything. Perhaps Fleur's pride in her charms work was justified for once. Hermione squared her shoulders and began to walk down the street Nigel had indicated, trying not to openly stare at the other goblins enjoying the evening.

The road was neatly paved with granite that was so clean it shone in the light of the street lamps. It was also somewhat remarkable that a full-sized wizard would have been more than comfortable walking a street as wide and straight as this one was, with the ceiling of the cave so high that it couldn't be seen. If Hermione hadn't known she was far underground, she might have felt as though she were walking down the street of a small town at dusk. Only the small size of the houses on either side of the street would have indicated that the inhabitants weren't human.

Soon, she came to a row of storefronts. Unfortunately, the translation spell Fleur had cast only went as far as the spoken word, but the stores were easy to identify—an apothecary with dried herbs and an enormous mortar and pestle in the window, a grocers' with piles of vegetables and what appeared to be a side of aged beef, a jeweller’s, and, to Hermione's relief, a pub, which was filled with dozens of goblins laughing and chatting in the open windows and drinking flagons of ale.

Hermione squared her shoulders and muscled her way inside. The inside of the pub was more brightly-lit than its human counterparts, but the air was filled with the familiar odours of chips and fresh mushroom pie. Hermione began to make a circuit around the long, narrow room, glancing into booths and trying not to make eye contact with any lady goblins. Unfortunately, she didn't see Hodrod anywhere, which made her wonder if there were other pubs in the neighbourhood.

She was about to leave in search of another establishment, when a movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. A goblin in a black jacket had stepped into the corridor that in a human establishment would have led to the toilets. He was looking furtively over his shoulder away from her, and when he was satisfied nobody was watching, he stuck his thumb into a knot in the wood panel, and a door slid open.

Hermione's heart leapt. If Hodrod was in that secret room, perhaps she'd be able to negotiate with all the key players in their conspiracy. She glanced at the end of the bar, where the barman had just set a tray of flagons. She raised her chin, doing her best impression of Fleur when she had something to prove, and swooped in and seized the tray and swept off towards the secret door.

The door slid open when she touched the button, and Hermione found herself inside a dimmer private room, where three goblins sat around a table, scowling at her. Hermione couldn't hold back a grin of triumph when she saw that the goblin in the centre of the trio was none other than Hodrod the Horny-Handed, flanked by the goblin in the black jacket and Griphook, the goblin who had reluctantly helped Hermione rob Gringotts in exchange for the Sword of Gryffindor. Perhaps Griphook was Grik of the Grik and Stonker that Nigel had mentioned.

“We didn't order those,” snapped the goblin in black, presumably Stonker, who was seated to Hodrod's right.

“They were ordered for you,” said Hermione, setting the tray down on the table next to a pile of documents. Unfortunately, apart from the edition of The Evening Prophet that bore her picture, they were all in Gobbledygook, and she couldn't read them.

Hodrod seized her wrist. “Who did you say paid for this round?” he asked, looking at her through narrowed eyes. “I should hate for such generosity to be repaid to the wrong person.”

Hermione yanked her wrist free and looked down her nose at each of the goblins in turn.

“Hermione Granger,” she said in a low voice, and waited.

To her satisfaction, Hodrod looked at least as confused as she did in the Evening Prophet photo for a moment, before he let out a snarl as he leapt to his feet, knocking over the chair in which he had been sitting.

Griphook reached into his pocket and perched a pair of _pince nez_ on his nose before staring at the picture in the paper, blinking at her, and tutting noisily. “It is she,” he confirmed unnecessarily.

Stonker, or whatever his name was, gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white, but said nothing, looking to Griphook and Hodrod for what to do.

“Peace, brothers,” said Griphook. “We meet again, Miss Granger.”

“It's nice to see you again, Griphook,” lied Hermione. “I hope you're doing well.”

“As well as one can when despised by one's own kind,” said Griphook. “But I suppose that's one thing we have in common.”

“Restoring a lost treasure to your people didn't have the cachet you'd hoped?” asked Hermione.

“Restoring my eye,” said Stonker. “Hoarding it, more like.”

“My family made the sword,” said Griphook primly. “If nobody is willing to pay for its use, then it shall remain in our possession.”

“The swordmaker is long dead,” said Stonker. “You have no more claim to it than those wizards had.”

“Yes, you've made your opinion on the subject known,” said Griphook, giving Stonker a dirty look.

“Enough,” said Hodrod to Griphook before turning toward Hermione. “If you're here to threaten us, I think you're going to be disappointed. All we need to do is summon the authorities and notify them of an imposter.”

“But we're not going to do that,” said Griphook, sending a quelling glare at Hodrod. “Because Miss Granger has clearly gone through a great deal of trouble to come here.”

“And had a great deal of help,” said Stonker, crossing his arms.

“I think we ought to hear what she has to say,” said Griphook.

“All right,” said Hodrod, sighing impatiently. “Say what you came to say and let's have done with it.”

Three pairs of black eyes came to rest on Hermione, and she took a deep breath.

“I think we should be working with one another, not against,” she said. “I don't blame Hodrod for not realising he had allies among the humans, but I am one, and the Hogwarts Headmaster is one. We'll do everything we can to help your cause.”

“Oh, will you?” asked Hodrod contemptuously. “So you'll get my son a wand and let him attend Hogwarts?”

“I don't know that the school is in the habit of procuring equipment for students who can afford it—“ began Hermione.

“I seem to recall the school procuring a wholly unnecessary racing broom for one Harry Potter so he could play on the Gryffindor Quidditch team,” commented Stonker.

Hermione blinked in surprise. The goblins had clearly done their homework. She cleared her throat. “As I was saying, the school may not be in the habit of doing so, but has been known to make exceptions from time to time.”

“And what exactly would you ask of us in return?” asked Griphook, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“Petition the Brotherhood of Goblins to negotiate with the Ministry of Magic over new rules governing wand use by nonhumans in exchange for bringing goblin treatment of part-humans in line with the Ministry's.”

Hodrod laughed nastily, and Griphook shook his head. Stonker looked amused.

“You don't do things by halves, do you?” he asked.

“Here's how I see it,” said Hermione. “Wizards fear goblins because they don't understand their magic. If they see a goblin learning the same kind of magic they practice and the world doesn't end, it'll be that much harder for opponents of goblin wand use to argue in dire hypotheticals against a concrete and benign counterexample.”

“What makes you think that any of us have the power to persuade the Brotherhood of Goblins to do anything?” asked Griphook.

“And likewise, what assurances do we have that you and your Headmaster have the political clout needed to bring about reforms?” asked Hodrod.

“Well, it certainly would have been easier before you ambushed us and alleged all sorts of awful things about us in the paper,” said Hermione, scowling at Hodrod, ”but we do have other sympathetic media sources as well as allies in the Wizengamot. Chipping Clodbury was a long time ago. I think we have a decent chance. As for whether or not you can make the Brotherhood listen, well, I suppose that depends on what you're willing to sacrifice for the cause,” she said, looking at Griphook.

Griphook swallowed hard but didn't immediately refuse, which Hermione took to be a good sign. Even Hodrod looked thoughtful.

“What do you think about all this?” he asked, turning to Stonker.

“I think there's a greater chance of achieving your long-term goal if you work with her,” said Stonker, after a moment's pause. “However, you risk your short-term goal by doing so.”

“Nigel will attend Hogwarts,” said Hodrod. “The whole plan depends on it. Even she agrees.”

“She agrees in theory,” said Stonker bitterly. “But do you think she'll stand firm when the Howlers come and her job is threatened?”

“The Howlers have already begin arriving, and I came to you anyway,” said Hermione, ignoring the twinge of embarrassment she felt over nearly having refused to do so. “I'm no stranger to controversy or the condemnation of the wizarding world. But their acrimony is as fickle as their affections, and as long as our allies in the press are willing to do their jobs, I believe we can turn the tide of public opinion. Now,” she said turning to Stonker, “I'd like to hear why you think that the fight for wand rights will be imperilled, rather than strengthened, by Nigel attending Hogwarts.”

Hodrod gave Stonker a nasty look but didn't say anything.

Oh. Hodrod's long-term goal wasn't the right to carry a wand. Or, at least, that wasn't solely it. Was it revenge against the wizards who escaped punishment at Chipping Clodbury? Hermione made a mental note to ask Filius about the identities of the wizards involved. It could be useful information to know.

“It is of no importance,” said Stonker, rising. “It's decided that Nigel will attend Hogwarts, so attend Hogwarts he shall. I believe that my part in this ridiculous plan is at an end.”

“Oath-breaker,” swore Hodrod through clenched teeth. “You swore that—“

“I've fulfilled my part of our bargain,” said Stonker smugly. “It's not my fault if the vow you extracted wasn't specific enough. And now that Miss Granger has kindly given you something to mull over, I shall take my leave.”

“Please reconsider, old friend,” said Griphook, glancing warningly at Stonker and jerking his head towards Hodrod.

Hermione could feel the tension roiling between the three goblins, and gooseflesh rose on her arms at the expression on Hodrod's face. If he had been angry before, he was furious now, and his eyes glittered malevolently.

“I had better be on my way as well,” said Hermione, edging towards the door. “Thank you all for your time, and please feel free to owl me with any questions.”

“You're not going anywhere,” said Hodrod, making a rough gesture in the air, which made the door through which she and Stonker were about to exit slam shut. “As attractive as your proposal is, I think we will be in a far stronger position to negotiate with your Ministry if you're in goblin custody.”

To Hermione's horror, Hodrod spoke a harsh word and ropes snapped into existence and whipped around her and Stonker, holding the two of them immobile. He raised his hand and knocked three times on the table.

The floor trembled beneath Hermione's feet, and a siren began blaring somewhere on the far side of the wall.

“I am truly sorry about this,” said Griphook, who looked genuinely distraught, “but you failed to negotiate safe passage for yourself, so there really is nothing I can do.”

“I had hoped it wouldn't come to this,” said Stonker, his voice rough with anger.

“You ought to have considered that before you decided to end our bargain,” said Hodrod.

“Any time you're ready, Miss Granger,” said Stonker quietly, impatience clearly audible in his voice.

“ _Diffindo_!” shouted Hermione, causing the ropes to fall away. She sent a pair of stunners at Hodrod and Griphook, then aimed her wrist at the locked door. “ _Reducto_!”

Stonker was staring at her open-mouthed, and she grabbed his hand and began to pull him towards the door. “Any time you're ready,” she said, exasperated.

To his credit, he didn't need to be told twice.

The front room of the pub was abuzz with goblins attempting to find out what had caused the alarm, which now seemed to be blaring twice as loud as it had been. Through the open windows, Hermione could see flashing lights and a band of goblins in bright red uniforms attempting to push their way into the pub.

“This way,” hissed Stonker, and he pulled her in the opposite direction. They ran through the kitchen, were cursed at for knocking over an enormous pile of potatoes, and ran out into an alleyway behind the pub.

“I can Apparate us out,” said Hermione.

“No,” said Stonker. “There are Apparition barriers around every goblin settlement. We'll have to board the inter-city tram.”

“Where can we do that?”

“Uptown,” said Stonker, grimly. “And the shire reeve will have dispatched numerous patrols to intercept us.”

“Can we take someone's mine cart there?” asked Hermione.

“Mine cart?” asked Stonker in tones of disgust. “You mean steal a car?”

“Unless you'd rather walk,” said Hermione, scowling.

Stonker sniggered. “They really did make you into an ugly goblin.”

“Insufferable arse,” said Hermione. “You can go—“ she stopped speaking abruptly as three red-clad goblins came running around the corner.

To Hermione's surprise, there was a bang, and a projectile whizzed past her ear. Goblins had firearms?

She had little chance to contemplate this because Stonker seized her around the waist and dived behind a pile of crates.

“Give me your betrothal band,” he gasped.

Hermione was horrified to see that his shoulder was bleeding. “I'm not so hideous after all,” she joked, pulling the bracelet from her wrist and handing it to Stonker.

“Hold tight,” said Stonker. “I've not done this in some time.”

“What are you—?“ asked Hermione, but that was as far as she got because Stonker suddenly flew up into the air, and she with him.

Hermione couldn't suppress a cry of surprise, and her arms tightened instinctively around Stonker, who was squeezing her tightly. Their flight was wobbly and terrifyingly fast. But after a few moments of sheer panic, her brain kicked into gear.

There was only one person she knew who could fly, and it just so happened that he was also one of the people who knew about Hogwarts' Book and Quill of Admittance. Impossible though it seemed, there was no other conclusion to be reached: Stonker, the black-clad goblin conspirator, was none other than Severus Snape in disguise.

And with that simple revelation, the web of conspiracy that had seemed impenetrable two hours ago had been brushed away in one fell swoop. Or rather, one flying swoop. Hermione really didn't want to think about falling.

She forced her eyes open and was amazed to see the magnificent spires looking downright terrifying as they flew closer and closer.

“Hold on,” shouted Snape. “I'm going to try to catch the tram to Marbury.”

“When does it leave?”

“Two minutes ago,” he said, lurching in the direction of his uninjured shoulder, which threw them into a sharp descent.

Hermione tried very hard not to tense her body for fear of throwing off his trajectory, and before she knew it they were flying several meters above a stout set of tracks. She could make out the bright light of the tram ahead of them, running at a speed with them in the same direction.

“Can you go faster?” asked Hermione.

“Of course I can,” he snapped. “Do us both a favour and keep quiet. This isn't bloody Quidditch.”

Hermione wanted to snap back at him, but since she depended on him to escape, she had better save her annoyance for a later date. She tucked her head under his chin, from which vantage point she could see a cart filled with red-clad goblins barrelling towards them, and they had something approximately the size of a bazooka that they were aiming at Snape.

“Pull up!” screamed Hermione.

To her relief, Snape did so without hesitation just in time for a large projectile to go roaring across their previous trajectory. It crashed into the wall of the cave, and an enormous ball of flames erupted with a deafening boom.

Snape let out a growl, and his arms tightened around Hermione, and they zoomed towards the back of the train at a speed so absurd that Hermione could feel air pushing its way under her eyelids.

Hermione took another glance behind them, but the cart of red goblins had fallen far behind.

“Impact in three,” said Snape, whose voice was strained with the effort of maintaining their speed. “Two. One.”

Hermione screwed her eyes shut, and they crashed through the back window of the tram. She felt her left humerus snap as she ricocheted off a pile of trunks. Snape let out a sound that was halfway between a bellow and a shriek, and their flight was arrested as they slammed into something enormous and mercifully shock-absorbent.

Hermione's breath was knocked out of her, but she was alive. As she gently pulled herself from the surface of what appeared to be an enormous cushion, she realised that Snape had managed to transfigure the luggage and crates mid-flight.

Snape hissed as he pulled himself to his feet. Blood flowed freely from his scalp, and he was covered with small lacerations. “Can you walk?” he asked Hermione, holding out his hand to help her to her feet, despite the fact that he was swaying alarmingly.

“I think so,” she said, reaching her right hand around to hold the limp left. As her hand made contact with the injured arm, stars erupted in Hermione's vision as pain seared through her. “My arm's broken,” she gasped, “but I can walk.”

He nodded, then pressed himself to the wall of the train car and edged toward the back window they'd crashed through. Several small projectiles came whizzing through the window, and Hermione ducked behind the trunks she'd slammed into. Apparently the goblins hadn't given up.

Hermione could see flashes of red light against the ceiling as Snape fired Stunner after Stunner at their pursuers.

“We're nearly there,” he shouted above the whistling wind. “Keep your head down!”

“My head is down!” shouted Hermione. “Worry about your own!”

But to Hermione's horror, the tram suddenly lurched, and there was a scream of metal against metal.

“No!” cried Snape, even as the tram began to slow down. Hermione risked a glance around the crates and saw Snape with his head out the window.

“Are you mad?” she shouted, rushing to him and pulling him back inside as several more projectiles went whizzing past.

“They're too late!” crowed Snape. He began to laugh, and he continued laughing even as he lost his balance and fell to the floor.

Abruptly, the ambient light from the goblin town dimmed as the freight car skidded into the tunnel and out of the town's protective spells.

Still laughing, Snape seized her uninjured arm and Apparated.

  



	2. Chapter 2

Being side-along Apparated by Severus Snape was rather like being shot out of a cannon. In other words, it wasn't all that different from flying with him, except that it was over more quickly.

Unfortunately, wherever Snape had chosen to take them was pitch black, and Hermione stumbled, out of breath and nauseated, and fell against what felt like a bed.

“ _Lumos!_ ” said Snape, and the room was flooded with light.

Hermione blinked, surprised to find herself standing in a tall room surrounded by enormous bookshelves. The “bed” she was leaning on was an enormous ottoman. Of course. She and Snape were still goblin-sized, and he had Apparated them to a human-sized dwelling.

“Brace yourself,” said Snape shortly. “This will hurt. _Finite Incantatem!_ ”

Hermione gritted her teeth as the enchantments on her appearance dissolved, and the broken edges of bone ground together as she grew back to her natural height. Fortunately, the pain subsided from excruciating to merely awful once the transformation was over.

She sat down on the ottoman, weary and slightly disoriented, and looked up at the harsh, familiar face in front of her. Even from her seated position, he seemed less tall than she remembered, and slighter of build without the layered teaching robes he once favoured. His black hair was longer and shot through with silver, and his once sallow skin was paper white, as though he hadn't seen the sun in twenty years. Of course, if he'd been in hiding with the goblins all this time, he might not have.

Hermione flexed her shoulder experimentally, and pain radiated out from the broken bone.

“I can mend that if you like,” said Snape. “Though if you'd prefer to go to St. Mungo's—“

“No,” said Hermione. “Please mend it. I've got to get back to Hogwarts, but the Matron is on holiday.”

Snape nodded, reaching down to take her hand. “This will also hurt.”

Hermione nodded and took a deep breath. Her arm screamed in protest as Snape pulled it out to its fullest extension. And then it felt as though the bone was suddenly liquid fire, but then as abruptly as the pain had started, it ceased.

Hermione let out a shuddering breath and flexed her elbow experimentally.

“Thank you,” she said. “Your turn.”

“My wounds are superficial,” said Snape, waving her hand away.

“Do you really want to leave blood all over the place?” she asked.

“This is my home,” he said petulantly. “I'll bleed on it if I like.”

Hermione glanced around. It looked about as lived in as the Tricklebank house. “I don't suppose you have any essence of dittany?”

“There's dittany in the herb garden out back,” said Snape, allowing her to examine the wound in his shoulder with ill grace. “At least there was. The stinging nettle may have overtaken it in my absence.”

“Lovely,” said Hermione, exiting the sitting room through the tiny kitchen and unlocking the back door. 

The hinges shrieked as she opened the door to reveal a small back yard surrounded by a low stone fence, which had been completely overrun by weeds and the remains of an herb garden. Fortunately, between the light of the waxing moon and the light that spilled out the open door, Hermione had no trouble gathering sufficient dittany without running afoul of the stinging nettles.

To her surprise, Snape had already got out the necessary equipment by the time she got back inside.

“You should be resting,” she admonished half-heartedly.

“It's easier to clean blood off tile than furniture,” he said mildly, handing her a mortar and pestle and using her wand to light a small fire underneath a flask of what she assumed was potions-grade alcohol.

“I haven't made essence of dittany from scratch for years,” she commented, crushing the first batch of leaves into a paste.

“Your technique is adequate,” said Snape, holding out the flask as she scraped the paste into it and set to crushing the next batch of leaves.

“I had to make it several times a week when the boys and I were on the run,” said Hermione.

“No doubt you went through it faster than the Hogwarts infirmary,” said Snape.

They fell into a companionable silence, with Hermione crushing leaves and Snape keeping low but even heat under the flask. When the last of the crushed leaves were added to the flask, Snape muttered an incantation, which sent a flash of light through the green sludge, and set it aside to cool.

“You'll be wanting this back,” said Snape, handing her wand to her.

“What about you?” she asked. 

“I'll use my mother's,” he said, shrugging and wincing in pain.

Hermione wanted to ask what had become of his wand, but thought better of it. There were far more interesting questions, and far more amenable circumstances for asking them.

“All right,” said Hermione, gesturing towards the blood-soaked shoulder of his robe. “Let's see the damage.”

“Unnecessary,” said Snape. “I'm fully capable of applying dittany to my own wounds.”

“I'm sure you are,” said Hermione. “But the last thing you want to do is heal foreign objects into the wound. At least let me clean it.”

“You needn't coddle me out of misdirected gratitude for saving your life,” said Snape.

“I'm not,” said Hermione. “No more than you're tolerating me because I kept you from being splattered against the cavern wall. Now, stop being coy and take off your robe.”

Snape scowled at her, but he did as he was bidden. He appeared even more skeletal wearing only a bloodstained tee shirt, and up close she could see the fine lines around his eyes. After all that he'd suffered to defeat Voldemort, she sincerely hoped that some of the lines were from laughter or smiling.

Snape pulled the neck of his shirt aside to reveal the wound, which wasn't bleeding as freely as Ron's had done post-Splinching, thankfully. But there was definitely something metallic shining deep within the wound. “There's something in there,” she said. “It looks like a bullet.”

Snape swore in Gobbledygook, which Hermione was surprised to hear she could still understand.

“We should leave it there until the dittany is cool,” she said. “It'll bleed awfully once I remove it.”

“I'd rather have it out now, if you don't mind,” said Snape. “Goblin projectiles aren't known for their benign effects.”

“Do you think it could be poisoned?”

“Poisoned. Cursed. Explosive. Think of anything unpleasant, and the goblins will have enchanted it into metal at some point.”

“If you go into shock, I'm taking you to St. Mungo's,” threatened Hermione, raising her wand.

“Nonsense. In the unlikely event that the wound becomes life-threatening, take me to Hogwarts. I'm certain Filius suspects I'm alive, and his healing charms are every bit as impressive as his offensive ones.”

Hermione gathered Snape's bloody robe and handed it to him. “This will most certainly hurt,” she said, aiming her wand at the oozing wound in his shoulder.

“Be sure to Banish it once it's out,” said Snape through gritted teeth.

“We'd still be exposed for a split second. I've got a better idea,” said Hermione, waving her wand at his shoulder and summoning an Orb of Containment, which attached to Snape's shoulder like a luminous soap bubble.

Snape flinched away from the sphere, which Hermione belatedly realised resembled the spell that Voldemort had used to contain Nagini until he'd decided to sacrifice Snape.

“Sorry,” she said, feeling her face go red, even as she kept her eyes focussed on the glint of metal in the wound. “Three. Two. One. _Defodio_!”

Snape made a strangled sound as the bullet popped out of his shoulder and into the Orb, which sealed itself when Hermione detached it from his shoulder with a wave of her wand.

“Get rid of it!” Snape hissed, pressing the robe to his shoulder to staunch the bleeding.

The Orb was filling with ominous-looking black smoke, which made the bubble flicker, and Hermione ran it through the kitchen and out the back door.

“ _Reducto_!” she shouted, and the orb shot away from her moments before it collapsed, releasing a black miasma that was silhouetted against the moon. Fortunately, it was soon caught in the light evening breeze, and the smoke dissipated.

Hermione locked the door behind her for good measure. She put her hand near the flask of cooling dittany essence and was pleased to find it hot, but not scalding.

“I think this is cool enough to use,” she said, taking the flask by the neck and bringing it over to where Snape sat.

“Very well,” he said.

He met her eye to ensure that she was ready, and she nodded.

He pulled the robe away from the wound, which was now welling with fresh blood, and Hermione poured the dittany into it. Clearly, Snape had had many wounds healed this way, and he didn't make a sound.

Several applications of dittany later, the wound finally closed, and Snape sat back with a sigh.

“Thank you,” he said, probing the new skin delicately with his fingers.

“Likewise,” said Hermione. “If you'd bend your head down, there's a scalp wound I'd like to see to.”

“I'm fine, Granger,” he said, scrubbing his hand against the congealing rivulet of blood on his forehead and taking the dittany from her. “I trust you can find your way back to Hogwarts from here.”

“That's it?” asked Hermione. “After everything that's happened tonight, you're just sending me off?”

“Were you expecting an invitation to tea?” asked Snape irritably. “As you may have gathered, my assumed identity has been shot to hell. I'm injured, I'm exhausted, and I have more important things to think about than your inane questions.”

There was a loud pop from the kitchen, and Snape scuttled behind the sofa in a defensive posture.

Wand drawn, Hermione edged into the kitchen to find a piece of parchment printed with what appeared to be Gobbledygook. To her dismay, there was a moving photograph of a dark line of smoke whizzing across the goblin skyline that had to be her and Snape.

She picked it up and handed it to Snape. “What's this?”

To her surprise, Snape's expression of suspicion evaporated, and he began to laugh. “Can't you read it?”

“If I could read it, I wouldn't have asked what it was,” she snapped.

If anything, this seemed to amuse Snape even more. “It's a special edition of the goblin newspaper. Care to guess who made the front page?”

“Oh, for the love of Circe!” she exclaimed, sitting on the sofa next to Snape.

“Shall I read it to you?”

“You had better,” grumbled Hermione.

“' _Riot in Rockheath, Human Spy Takes Hostage_ ',” read Snape. “' _Unidentified hostage likely victim of foul play_ ,’ I say, that's feeble. I've lived as a goblin for nearly twenty years, and I don't even warrant a mention by name.”

“How disappointing for you,” said Hermione acidly.

Snape's lips quirked, and he continued to read aloud.

_“An unknown goblin was abducted today from the popular pub The Severed Head, and witnesses on the scene have identified the perpetrator as none other than the human Hermione Granger, career criminal. The brazen kidnapping, which occurred at half five this evening, was witnessed by dozens of goblins. The Shire reeve's office reports that Granger had disguised herself as a goblin and hidden her wand, and when cornered, she used a spell invented by Voldemort himself to fly away to avoid capture._

_Her victim, who is described as a male goblin in his fifties, was injured as Granger flew them both into the back of the 6:05 tram to Marbury. Despite being surrounded by the Shire reeve's best officers, Granger was able to Apparate away with her victim once the tram left Rockheath's municipal protections. Initial forensics reports indicate that her victim was injured badly in the escape and is in need of medical attention._

_This is hardly Granger's first crime against goblinkind. Not even twenty years have passed since she masterminded the first and only successful robbery of Gringotts bank, for which the humans rewarded her with the post of Deputy Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Once there, she proceeded to dismantle longstanding legal walls between wizards and goblins, thus making goblins even more vulnerable to her aggressions. How long will she and others of her kind be allowed to disrupt the lives and livelihoods of goblins, seemingly for their own entertainment? How long will her Ministry continue to shield her from goblin justice? The Brotherhood of Goblins must demand a full inquiry into this incident, and Granger must be made to answer for her crimes._ ' Well, that's impressive. I haven't seen the goblin press this worked up since Chipping Clodbury.”

“Brilliant,” said Hermione, scowling. “At least it's less condescending than what the _Evening Prophet_ wrote about me.”

“I shall have to send for one,” said Snape with a soft smile that belied his utter exhaustion. Unfortunately, his dilapidated house didn't seem like a particularly restful place.

“You could come back to Hogwarts with me,” she said. “Filius has a copy of the _Evening Prophet_. And the Howlers he's received make for entertaining reading.”

To Hermione's dismay, Snape's easy smile fell away and was replaced by the taciturn expression she had seen so often when she was a student at Hogwarts. “I hardly think so,” he said coldly. “I know you're probably dying to tell your little friends that you saw me, but I must ask to be left out of whatever you and Filius have planned.”

“We're not—“ Hermione began, ready to describe how she and Ron had acrimoniously parted ways and how Ron had essentially won Harry in the divorce, thanks to Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys. But it was none of Snape's business at all. She cleared her throat. “You know what Filius and I have planned,” said Hermione, not bothering to keep her irritation out of her voice. “You heard me propose it to Hodrod and Griphook.”

“From that, I know what you have planned,” said Snape. “I suspect that Filius's still waters run deeper.”

“Fine, if I'm too stupid to grasp the plan, then ask him yourself,” she snapped.

“Severus Snape is dead, Hermione,” he said. “Let him rest in peace.”

“Gladly,” said Hermione rising, her knuckles tight around her wand as she gestured expansively at the shabby room. “Here lies Severus Snape, a miserable git in life, and an even more miserable git in death.”

“Who nonetheless made a more attractive goblin than Hermione Granger,” said Snape tiredly.

“Sod off,” said Hermione, spinning on her heel and Apparating once more to the gates at Hogwarts.

  


Stomping up fifteen flights of stairs to the Headmaster's office did little to reduce the height of Hermione's dudgeon.

Filius's door was open, and he looked up from his desk at her approach.

“Thank goodness,” he breathed, gesturing for her to take a seat opposite him. “I'd feared the worst when I saw the paper. Are you all right, my dear?”

“I'm fine,” said Hermione, whose ire evaporated at Filius's concern.

“Have you eaten?” he asked. “Clearly this isn't a tale to be told on an empty stomach. And I must say, the elves outdid themselves on tonight's kedgeree.”

“Merlin preserve you for a thousand years,” breathed Hermione, not realising until that moment that she was utterly famished.

Filius gave her a grin and clapped his hands. Clearly he'd arranged something with the elves already, because a full place setting and an enormous plate of curry-scented gloriousness appeared before her.

Hermione ate until half the dish was empty and the worst of her hunger pangs had subsided.

“Well,” she said, “you were right. It was an enlightening journey.”

“I trust you discovered how the goblins found out so much about the school's admittance policies?” asked Filius.

“You are correct,” said Hermione, wanting to say more, but refusing to betray a confidence, even one as pointless as the one Snape had demanded.

Filius nodded. “I see. What do Hodrod and Griphook say?”

Hermione told Filius about her meeting, not hiding the fact that a third goblin had been present, but not making his identity obvious, either. “And that's when Hodrod summoned the police because I was worth more in goblin custody,” said Hermione. “Griphook seemed almost sad but said I ought to have negotiated my own safe passage. Not that we had any sort of agreement when Sna—I mean, when I decided to leave.”

Filius's eyes gleamed. “Good. Then we may yet hear from them.”

“Thanks to that story in the paper, the Brotherhood of Goblins thinks I'm the head of a vast anti-goblin conspiracy. What on earth makes you think that any of them has any interest in negotiating with wizards for anything other than my extradition?”

“Because you escaped,” said Filius. “They threw everything they had at you, and you escaped. Goblins admire ingenuity and, above all, power. That article will put public opinion firmly behind you. I wish the story in _Evening Prophet_ had had such a beneficial effect.”

“Oh, that,” said Hermione, scrubbing her tired eyes with her fists. “Two things: one, I think we need to make this about Chipping Clodbury. The whole story this time. Let the wizarding world know the full extent of the grievances Hodrod and Gangert have with us and how horribly they were treated.”

Filius looked as though he wished to argue, but instead gestured for her to continue. “And the second thing?”

“We should do everything we can to ensure that Nigel has a good experience at Hogwarts. I think we should hire a goblin to tutor him in goblin magic, preferably someone with an unseemly interest in wand lore who has a history of helping humans against goblins. Because I might have implied that Griphook give up his most prized treasure to further our cause, and I think he deserves something in return.”

“Sound recommendations,” said Filius. “But have you considered the ramifications of making the Chipping Clodbury story public?”

Hermione frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The three wizards involved would have much to answer for.”

“It's only right, don't you think?” asked Hermione, whose stomach was beginning to feel odd, and not just from the curry.

“I do think it's right,” said Filius, giving her a meaningful look. “However, what's just isn't the only consideration when there are families involved.”

“Merlin,” whispered Hermione, feeling her eyes sting. “It's Ron, isn't it?”

“He was a trainee at the time,” said Filius softly. “It was supposed to be a simple assignment, observation only, under John Dawlish's supervision. Dawlish was once a great Auror and a great wizard, but he was never quite the same after the war.”

Hermione suddenly felt very far away from her present self. As though she was watching herself from above talking to Filius with a half-eaten plate of food between them. Suddenly, Ron's stubborn resistance to her attempts to further wand rights for goblins made more sense. Ron was terrified that his part in Chipping Clodbury would be revealed, that his family would find out. Bill would want to distance himself. Harry would be horribly disappointed in him. And if convicted of anything, he might lose custody of their children, who loved their chaotic, glorious summers at the Burrow after their school years with Hermione at Hogwarts.

“So it was Ron, Dawlish, and someone in the Experimental Charms and Transfiguration Society,” said Hermione, amazed her voice was steady. “Who was it?”

“Dawlish was a member, you know,” said Filius. “He was a genius at Transfiguration. He was supposed to give a seminar the next day. _What a noble mind is here o'erthrown_ ,” he quoted sadly.

“The third person, Filius.”

Filius sighed. “Nigel Cresswell.”

Hermione blinked. “Who is Nigel Cresswell? The only Cresswell I can think of is—oh!”

Filius nodded. “Dirk Cresswell's eldest.”

“But that makes no sense,” exclaimed Hermione. “Dirk Cresswell was the most successful Goblin Liaison Officer in recent history, and Muggle-born to boot. He died for his devotion to equal rights. Why would his son want anything to do with Dawlish, who tried to take Dirk to Azkaban under Voldemort's orders? Confunded or not, I would imagine that puts a bit of a strain on a relationship.”

“And yet Hodrod named his son Nigel,” said Filius mildly. “What might we conclude from that?”

Hermione felt the pieces fall into place, but it didn't make her feel any better. “It was a publicity stunt. Hodrod and Cresswell the younger planned to make a scene to win the goblins public sympathy. But when Cresswell called on the Aurors to intervene, Dawlish did something unpredictable, and Gangert nearly paid the ultimate price.”

“Well reasoned,” said Filius.

“And correct?” she asked wryly.

“And correct,” said Filius. “But you understand now, that releasing the details of Chipping Clodbury will only muddy the waters.”

Hermione sighed. “I suppose we might wait until we hear something from the goblins to move forward.”

“Good,” said Filius. “Because the press release I've drafted depends on precisely that.”

Hermione couldn't hold back a yawn. “Great,” she said. “I sincerely hope you don't need anything more from me tonight.”

“Not unless you feel like answering the Howlers that arrived for you earlier,” said Filius.

“Thanks very much,” said Hermione,” but I think I'll cede that honour to the Headmaster.”

“I rather thought you might,” said Filius, sighing. “Go get some rest. The press conference is at ten o'clock tomorrow in the Great Hall. And if I may say, you've done excellent work tonight.”

“I quite agree,” said Hermione, stretching. “I told my least favourite teacher of all time to sod off.”

Filius's surprised squeak was nearly as satisfying as hearing Snape laugh.

  


The next morning was dark and rainy, which Hermione hoped would result in fewer people making the trek to Hogwarts to hear Filius's prepared statement. Unfortunately, the hall was packed, and with far more than members of the press. Hermione herself slunk in a few minutes before the start and kept her eyes fixed on the stones at her feet. She wished some of the other teachers had decided to attend, but as it was neither mandatory nor likely to be a particularly enjoyable event, she supposed she couldn't blame them. The enchanted ceiling, which reflected the impenetrable clouds, made the proceedings feel like an execution.

She risked a glance at the audience and fought to keep a scowl off her face when she saw Rita Skeeter sitting as close to the dais as possible wearing a red ribbon that clashed horribly with her fuchsia robes. She looked as though Christmas had come early. Fortunately, Luna Lovegood was seated next to her wearing her bizarre recreation of Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem, complete with Wrackspurt siphons, and she waved merrily at Hermione, who couldn't help smiling at her.

Unfortunately the smile was short-lived when Hermione realised that most of the audience were wearing red ribbons, and she had a sinking feeling the ribbons meant something that wouldn't help their cause. However, she was surprised and cautiously pleased to see a band of goblins with notebooks and quills sitting near a very nervous-looking _Daily Prophet_ cub reporter. And of course, Fleur was there, surrounded by a flock of distracted admirers. She gave Hermione a small nod.

At precisely ten o'clock, Filius Flitwick strode across to the dais, mounted the podium stairs, and placed a sheaf of parchment on the lectern. Hermione was pleased to see that he made a show of drawing his wand and tapping it against his throat.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he squeaked, his amplified voice bouncing off the stone walls, “it's most exciting to see so many of you this lovely morning gathered in support of equality and fairness.”

There was a murmur of disapproval from the audience and even a shout of “Traitor!” from the back.

Filius's wand whipped through the air, and there was a gasp from the crowd as the heckler put his hands to his throat, gesturing that he had been Silenced.

“You will all have the opportunity to ask questions,” said Filius, his voice no longer squeaky but even and calm, “but I must ask you to allow me to deliver my statement uninterrupted, as I wish for every word to be heard, as there are so many representatives of the media present. It wouldn't do to be misquoted when so much is at stake.”

The Great Hall fell utterly silent, and Filius nodded his approval. “Many of you will have read yesterday evening's special edition of the _Evening Prophet_. And while there were a number of inaccuracies, including but not limited to the slurs and unfair insinuations about Deputy Headmistress Hermione Granger, one aspect of the lead story is indisputably true. Yesterday, a Hogwarts letter was delivered to a talented young man who happens to be a full-blooded goblin.”

The room echoed with whispers, but there were no loud outbursts.

“Those of you who are familiar with Professor Granger's work as Deputy Head of Magical Law Enforcement know that her painstaking analysis of decades of data shows no benefit to wizards or goblins to live segregated from one another. In fact, she found the opposite to be true. And while unfortunate circumstances conspired to end her promising career at the MLE before her reforms were complete, her findings have withstood numerous assaults from both sides of the issue. It is, perhaps, the highest compliment that her work can receive that it infuriates goblins and wizards alike.”

There was a lukewarm ripple of laughter, and Filius bowed his head solemnly.

“There is a fraught shared history between goblins and wizards. Both communities have erected legal and social barriers that have never been higher than they are now. And both have compensated for this lack of cooperation and collaboration in ingenious ways: wizards with their wandmaking and goblins with their metalsmithing. However, the situation is far from ideal, and there are those, such as myself, who are torn between two cultures and two ways of life that have been designed to be mutually exclusive.”

Filius wiped away a tear. “I myself have been absurdly fortunate in that I, a wizard who is a quarter goblin, have been accepted into the wizarding community. The Board of Governors has trusted me to be Headmaster of the finest school of magic in the world, with the sacred task of instilling both knowledge and morals in the next generation. It is for this reason that I must ask you to extend your patience but a year. I have every confidence that this young goblin, who goes by the name of Nigel, has a great career ahead of him. All I ask is that he be given the same opportunity that your grandparents gave me. I promise: you will not regret it.”

There was derisive laughter from the back, which emboldened fierce muttering. Filius smiled as though he hadn't heard it.

“Thank you all very much for your time. Now, if there are any questions?”

Every hand in the room shot upwards, and Filius's eyes widened.

“Hermione?” he asked, jerking his head at the audience.

So she was to moderate the mob. Brilliant.

“You,” said Hermione, pointing at the least angry-looking witch in the _Daily Prophet_ group.

“Headmaster Flitwick,” she said. “Equality and fairness notwithstanding, how do you square your decision to admit Nigel with Clause Three of the Code of Wand Use?”

“Nothing simpler,” said Filius, smiling. “Clause Three doesn't apply in this case.”

This proclamation was met with an angry buzz.

“Don't be ridiculous!” shouted one of the other _Prophet_ reporters. “No non-humans are allowed to carry or use a wand! It's that simple!”

“Mr. Smith is correct in his interpretation of Clause Three,” said Filius with a deferential gesture. “However, as a Hogwarts student who has not yet reached his majority, Nigel's wand use at Hogwarts would be protected by the same exception that allows underage wizards, who are similarly banned from using wands, to perform magic under school supervision.”

Hermione blinked. Oh. Why hadn't she thought of that before?

“That's a radical reinterpretation!” shouted a wizard in official Ministry robes.

“Next question!” said Filius cheerfully.

“You,” said Hermione, pointing at Fleur, whose hand was raised and whose expression radiated boredom.

“What on earth took 'ogwarts so long to admit a full-blooded goblin when a 'alf-giant was admitted over half a century ago? Not to mention a werewolf student, who was later invited back to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts?”

The murmur that rippled through the room was of a completely different sort as the spectators realised that Fleur was talking about Remus Lupin, who, along with his wife, had been hailed as a hero after his death.

“I agree, it's shameful,” said Filius. “But in the school's defence, no goblin parents seemed at all interested in having their children attend Hogwarts, at least not until Nigel's parents did.”

Hermione felt her stomach tighten. Any reference to Nigel's parents was dangerous. All it would take is one probing question, and their fragile support would be ruined. Hermione's eyes raked the room in desperation. Perhaps it was time to distract the press from Nigel in favour of giving them more awful things to think about her.

“You,” said Hermione, pointing at one of the goblins in the group.

“Is it true that the parents of your goblin student are none other than Hodrod the Horny-Handed and Gangert the Grotty, both of whom were involved in the infamous incident at Chipping Clodbury?”

There was a collective gasp from the room, and the goblin who had asked the question shot her a nasty smile before elbowing the goblin next to him, who dropped a quantity of what appeared to be gold into his waiting hand. 

Filius looked as gobsmacked as Hermione felt for a fraction of a second. What on earth were the goblins playing at?

“I'm afraid none of us can control who our parents are,” said Filius, “and the same is true of Nigel. Next question?”

Unfortunately, the muttering in the room had grown into an angry buzz, and the goblins were elbowing their way toward the exit. Obviously, they had accomplished what they had set out to do, and Hermione was both surprised and unsurprised to see that one of the goblins was Snape, disguised once more as Stonker. He met her eye defiantly, as if daring her to expose him.

“Thank you all for coming,” said Filius, in what was obviously an attempt to rip a stalemate from the jaws of defeat. “Any additional inquiries may be submitted by owl.”

He made a beeline for the arch that led out into the corridor, but there was a loud whizzing sound, and the words _Remember Chipping Clodbury_ appeared in red and gold letters, which shone like sunshine against the grey, cloudy ceiling. Hermione watched in horror as the red-ribbon wearers tapped their ribbons, and the words were soon emblazoned all over the Great Hall, including across the arch through which Filius had planned to escape. He shot Hermione an apologetic look and Disapparated.

Angry shouts erupted from all over the room. Hermione caught Fleur's eye, and she nodded, picking her way through the knot of besotted wizards around her to go search for Filius. Hermione eyed the empty podium warily. It was her job to assume the duties of the Headmaster when the Headmaster wasn't available, and assume them she would. She was certain that Filius had a good reason for his abrupt departure, and she was very much looking forward to hearing it.

In the meantime, she had an unpleasant task ahead of her. Hermione squared her shoulders, stepped numbly up to the lectern, and cast _Sonorus_ on herself.

“Are there any more questions?” she asked, and was met with a chorus of angry shouts. She swore she could hear Snape’s laughter ringing through the hall.

  


Several hours later, Hermione trudged up to the Infirmary for a dose of Throat Soothing Potion. She took a vial of Pepper-Up for good measure, since she suspected she would need it.

After a quick detour to the kitchens for soup and a sandwich, Hermione made her way to Filius's office, where she found the Headmaster and Fleur having tea by the fireplace. It was easy to see why, given that Filius's desk was practically buried in Howlers.

Filius Summoned a third armchair and waved Hermione over to join them. “I must apologise for my sudden departure at the press conference,” he said. “It's a matter of public record that I was at Chipping Clodbury, and that whole mess is clearly at the heart of our opposition. Shutting down that potential line of inquiry was tantamount. I hope the experience wasn't too unpleasant.”

“Oh, it was,” said Hermione, gratefully accepting the cup of tea that Filius floated her way. “However, it was still better than my last attempted negotiation.”

“I am pleased that you managed to escape the goblins yesterday,” said Fleur. “I 'ad 'oped you would. And you did not even need a dragon this time.”

“Not as such,” said Hermione, sipping her tea.

“I was listening to you answer questions in my stead,” said Filius. “You did beautifully, but after everything that's happened, you must be exhausted. Perhaps an afternoon off is just what you need.”

Hermione fought to keep an incipient frown from her face. Was Filius dismissing her?

“If you don't mind, I'd like to help,” said Hermione.

“We have nothing for you to do,” said Fleur bluntly.

“There's always something to do,” said Hermione.

“Mrs. Weasley and I are setting up a meeting with other mixed-blood witches and wizards,” said Filius apologetically. “Many of them are less than welcoming to outsiders. However, my private library is at your disposal, and I'm happy to answer any questions you may have.”

If Filius was offering her a bribe to stay out of their way, it was a good one. The Headmaster's Library was said to contain enchantments to rival the Room of Requirement, and like the Room of Requirement, it could produce seemingly anything. Where else would Dumbledore have obtained a copy of _Secrets of the Darkest Art_?

“I'll see what I can find,” said Hermione.

“The password is 'strawberry daiquiri,'” said Filius. “And don't forget to come out in time for supper. I've been distracted enough by the library to miss meals on more than one occasion.”

Hermione nodded her thanks and climbed the spiral staircase in the corner of the office that led to the library.

Hermione paused at the top of the stairs.

“You don't truly expect her to find anything of use up there,” said Fleur, who clearly thought Hermione was out of earshot. “You'd have found it yourself.”

“The library is never the same twice,” said Filius. “It's entirely possible that Hermione will find something that I haven't because she's looking for something different than I was.”

“You underestimate yourself, Filius.”

“I believe you underestimate what Hermione Granger can do in a library,” said Filius mildly.

Fleur tutted but made no more disparaging remarks before turning the topic of conversation back to her magazine.

Buoyed slightly by Filius's vote of confidence, Hermione placed her hand against the wooden trapdoor and whispered the password. The door opened silently, and Hermione climbed up inside.

Since the library occupied the top of the tower, the room was in the shape of a tall, narrow cone, whose point was so high up that Hermione couldn't quite make it out. The interior was lined with bookshelves, and in the centre of the floor was a massive reading desk, well supplied with quills, parchment, and ink. Next to the desk was a small table where the Hogwarts Book of Admittance and Enchanted Quill sat.

Hermione had been in this room precisely twice before to copy down the names of children who would receive that year's batch of Hogwarts letters. Both times, she had been so in awe of the book and focussed on doing the job properly that she hadn't really looked around.

To her surprise, what she'd taken to be many shelves of books was actually a single shelf that started at the floor and wound its way up the exterior of the room. There was a wheeled ladder on a similarly spiralling track that grew longer or shorter, depending on which way it was moved, in order to give access to all the books near it. And most remarkably, when she swung herself onto the ladder, the bookshelves and the ladder moved, all rotating smoothly as one giant assembly until an ancient leather-bound book with metal bosses brushed against her curious fingertips.

Well, that answered the question as to what book she should look at first. Hermione pulled the book from the shelf, and a smaller shelf sprung obligingly out from the rail of the ladder, thus giving her the use of both hands to climb back down. The shelf descended with her and snapped back into the ladder once she'd taken the book to walk to the desk. There was now a steaming cup of Assam tea sitting next to the chair, and just as she remembered, the chair was somehow the correct size for her.

She placed the book in front of her on the desk, and a perfect ray of reading light beamed down from the apex of the tower. She took a sip of tea—perfectly brewed, of course—and opened the book.

**_Lárbóc for Bócastréones Héahláréowes Hogwartes_ **  
_Being a Compleat Booke of Instrvctions for the vse of the Hogwarts Headmaster so that He May Finde What He Needeth in His Priuate Library_

Hermione grinned. It was quite decent of the library to provide an instruction manual. The book was concise and informative, and although it was slightly disappointing that it contained no information on the magic used to create the room, that was a line of inquiry for another day.

Assuming the instructions were accurate, all she needed to do was think about the specific problem she was trying to resolve, and the library would provide the resources needed to answer the question. The hard part was settling on a question to be answered.

The obvious question, how to convince the wizarding world that Nigel Tricklebank deserved to attend Hogwarts despite the law against his using a wand, was one she was certain that Filius had already asked. And the solution, to draw a parallel between the restriction on underage wand use and goblin wand use, was genius. However, a simple majority vote by the Wizengamot would be the only thing needed to close that particular loophole, and Chipping Clodbury was still a sore subject for both humans, who felt that Hodrod had got away with attempted murder, and goblins, who felt that the three wizards who had attacked the goblins had done the same.

She was certain that Snape had prompted the goblins to reveal Nigel's parentage at the press conference in an attempt to sway public opinion to oppose any goblin presence at Hogwarts. His hostility towards Hodrod suggested that he had either been forced or tricked into revealing the school's secrets and suggesting how they might be exploited to further their agenda. And now that he had dissolved their partnership so dramatically, he was actively trying to thwart them.

Hermione had to shake her head at the absurdity. Here she was searching for a way to help Hodrod get his son to Hogwarts despite wanting very badly to see Hodrod fail, and there was Snape, doing his best to keep Hodrod's son out of Hogwarts, despite his obvious sympathy for the cause. She strongly doubted that even the Headmaster's private library contained any books on how to outwit someone as preternaturally cunning as Severus Snape. Besides, that was only part of the problem. What she needed was an entirely new strategy to argue against wand restrictions, but she'd already exhausted the Ministry's archives and legal library. But if any library contained the resources she needed, it would be this one.

Hermione took one last sip of tea and mounted the ladder once more, doing her best to focus on her query. It would have to be a completely radical argument. Something that would upset the way that both wizards and goblins saw themselves as the pinnacle of magical beings. And how wonderful it would be if there were some sort of data on magic use, but she knew from working with the Ministry's archives that the various entities governing being populations were too fractured to provide such information. She climbed to the middle of the ladder, and to her surprise the ladder stayed where it was. She put her hands on numerous spines of books on every subject from Magical Surgery to a biography of Osric the Oblivious, but the ladder stayed stubbornly put.

She glanced over her shoulder to where the instruction manual lay, and wondered briefly if she'd missed something, when she saw something that made her heart beat faster. The shaft of reading light was no longer illuminating the pages of the instruction manual. Instead, it had shifted to the small table next to the desk, where the Book of Admittance was lying open and the magical quill floated slowly from its inkwell to the open page.

Hermione clambered down the ladder and ran to the book, just in time to see the quill begin to write the name “Gunvor” underneath “Holly Runcorn” and “Eric Birtwistle.” It seemed for a moment that the quill was about to write a surname, but instead, it drifted back to its inkwell and settled itself in with a decisive clink.

The book levitated for a moment and closed itself, the ancient leather barely making a sound.

“Of course,” whispered Hermione, her eyes wide.

She plucked the book from its table, opened it to its very first page, and began to take notes.

  


Some hours later, there was a knock at the trap door. Hermione was in the middle of a bone-cracking stretch, having been bent over the Book of Admittance all afternoon, as well as a few other books that the Headmaster's Library had provided.

Hermione rose from the desk as the door opened and Filius's head appeared in the opening. “I was wondering if you might be at liberty to have dinner with me in the Great Hall,” he asked. “If you've reached a stopping point, of course.”

“Dinner would be lovely,” said Hermione, rolling her shoulders in hopes of releasing some of the knots.

“Excellent!” said Filius, who opened the trapdoor all the way with a wave of his wand.

As Hermione followed Filius down the spiral staircase to the main part of his office, she noticed how gracefully the tiny man slid down the bannister, since the stairs were entirely too large for him.

Filius had not been idle while she had been in the library. The Howlers that had completely enveloped Filius's desk had been winnowed down significantly, and those that remained sat in neat piles. Although the largest was still the intake pile on the corner of his desk. As if to emphasise this, another Howler appeared at the top of the stack while she watched.

To Hermione's relief, Fleur was nowhere to be seen, but her relief was short-lived when she saw the downcast expression on Filius's face as he glanced at his desk.

“I see you had a productive afternoon,” said Hermione.

“Mrs. Weasley and I accomplished what we wished to accomplish,” he said, gesturing for her to precede him out of the office. “I even had time to weed out the Howlers that didn't merit a response.”

“That can't have been a pleasant task.”

“No,” he said, falling into step beside her. “I like to think that I'm not a naïve person. I know there are wizards and witches out there who fear people like me. But the quantity and ferocity of the response has surpassed anything I'd imagined. Still, nothing compared to what you dealt with in Magical Law Enforcement, no doubt,” he said with a sad smile.

He clambered up onto the bannister of the first staircase and slid down alongside Hermione.

“I imagine it's exactly like what I dealt with in Magical Law Enforcement,” said Hermione. “Though I had groups of interns and trainee Aurors to wade through the hate mail.”

“If only the students were here,” said Filius wistfully. “All I'd need to do is hand out a few detentions.”

“You hardly ever give detention,” said Hermione, smiling as she mounted the upward staircase that would give them access to the grand stairs that led to the Great Hall.

“True,” said Filius, hoisting himself efficiently up the stairs. “But I have excellent motivation to do so now.”

They chatted companionably the rest of their way to the Great Hall, and Filius practically bounced up into the Headmaster's seat, which he had supplied with a large stack of cushions to raise himself to the correct height.

No sooner had they sat down when a dinner of roast chicken with herbs and currants, potatoes, salad, and fizzy pumpkin juice appeared in front of them.

“Remind me to offer the house elves a pay rise,” said Filius, summoning the chicken with a wave of his wand. “Their service has been exemplary of late.”

“They won't accept,” said Hermione.

“No, but it lets them know that their work is deeply appreciated,” said Filius. “And in time, who knows? The younger generation seems less offended by offers of pay and days off than their forebears. Time has a way of incrementally changing the norm.”

“Funny you should say so,” said Hermione. “It reminds me of something I read earlier today.”

“Oh gracious yes,” said Filius, slapping his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Please forgive this foolish old man his preoccupations. Did you find anything interesting in my library this afternoon? “

“There's nothing to forgive,” said Hermione. “I'm not quite sure where to begin discussing my findings with you, actually.”

“Take your time, my dear,” said Filius. “And in the interim, please eat. I know how easy it is to neglect oneself in pursuit of a higher goal.”

Hermione raised her flagon of pumpkin juice in salute. “To not neglecting oneself,” she said.

Filius giggled and clinked his flagon against hers.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Hermione had to admit, the house elves had indeed outdone themselves.

When they both had polished off the chicken, salad, and most of the potatoes, Filius blotted his lips with his serviette and sat back with a contented sigh.

“I confess myself quite curious about your findings,” said Filius. “I do hope you'll be willing to share them before I must return to the unpleasant task of answering Howlers.”

Hermione took a deep breath. “Before I get into that, I'd like to ask you a question: why is it that you stand on a stack of books during your classes?”

Filius frowned at the apparent change of topic. “So the students can see me, of course,” he said. “I'd have thought that obvious.”

“But why don't you reconfigure the classroom and its furniture so that they can see you without putting yourself in danger of falling?” she asked.

“There was never a shortage of books,” said Filius, with a smile that faded when he saw that Hermione was serious.

“As Headmaster, you could do any number of things to make it easier for you to get around. The staircases alone must exhaust you.”

“Thanks to the secret passages, I rarely have occasion to take the staircases,” said Filius. “And there's no-one else of my size in the castle apart from the House Elves, and they have their own ways of getting from place to place. Why bother changing the castle just for myself? Especially when I'm accustomed to doing it?”

“Would you expect a goblin student to have to make the similar allowances to fit into a school that currently only accommodates humans?”

Filius frowned. “I hadn't thought that far ahead. It's true that when I arrived at Hogwarts as a first year it took me quite a while to find the best ways to get from place to place.”

“So the Headmaster never made any changes for you?”

“I don't think he was entirely thrilled to have to accept me. Fortunately, my mother's family gave him very little choice in the matter. But I do take your point, my dear. If Mr. Tricklebank's acceptance is allowed to stand and we’re not sacked before start of term, I think making the school a more accommodating environment will be a worthy project for the two of us.”

“I don't think it'll take much time, given what I found in your library this afternoon.”

“Oh?” asked Filius. “Do share with the class.”

Hermione waved her wand at the platform on which the head table sat. “ _Ordinem Originalem_!”

There was a grinding sound as the platform and surrounding arches shifted, and the wooden table groaned.

Filius let out a yelp as the seat of the chair he was sitting in shot upwards, scattering his pile of cushion. He managed to keep from falling by clinging to the arms of the chair.

“What in Merlin's name was that?” he asked.

“I restored one of the spells on the Great Hall that the Founders built into it,” said Hermione. “The Hall detects the size of each occupant and adjusts itself accordingly.”

Filius stepped down from his chair, which was a much easier task to accomplish, now that a set of small stone steps led up to it. He walked up a low ramp to a small arch that led to the corridor.

“This is extraordinary!” he said, eyes aglow. “But I hardly know what to make of it.”

“It's all there in the Book of Admittance,” said Hermione. “It's been the job of the Deputy Head for centuries to sort through the names in the book because we assumed the Founders were unable to differentiate between human, goblin, centaur, and elf magic. However I no longer believe that to be the case. The book didn't record non-human names by accident. All beings that displayed innate magical ability were invited to attend Hogwarts, not just the students who happened to be human.”

Filius's face drained of colour. “But why—how—?”

“You yourself said the Goblin Rebellions were a catalyst for advocates of wizard supremacy. What better way to exclude non-humans and those of mixed blood than by denying them an education and denying their shared history?” asked Hermione gesturing at the highest and broadest of the archways.

“Salazar Slytherin's mania for pure blood,” said Filius, his eyes suspiciously watery. “It wasn't only Muggleborns he distrusted.”

“Precisely,” said Hermione. “But it wasn't until first Goblin Rebellion that the fear and hatred he espoused gained a foothold.”

“If what you say is true, and I have no reason to doubt it, you may have solved our biggest problem.”

“I don't think this is a solution, necessarily,” said Hermione. “But it will most certainly bolster your argument that those with magical ability should have access to Hogwarts, regardless of blood status.”

“All these years, the book was right under my nose,” said Filius, whose tears were now running freely down his face, “but I never thought to question what I was told about it, even after Hodrod used it to fool us.”

“Well, you should never underestimate what I can do in a library,” said Hermione wryly.

Filius blushed to the tips of his ears. “I must apologise. Mrs. Weasley is a staunch and canny ally, but tact is not one of her gifts.”

“Think nothing of it,” said Hermione. “Fleur doesn't like me. The feeling is mutual. But we both know we're on the same side.”

Filius squeezed her hand. “I can't thank you enough, my dear. And I hope you won't be too offended that I must abandon you for the second time today, but it seems that I had a number of owls to send.”

“Not at all,” said Hermione. “But before you go, I wanted to let you know that I've considered the ramifications of telling the full story of what happened at Chipping Clodbury, and I think it's time we did.”

Filius bowed his head. “I won't stop you.”

“You don't agree?”

“I don't disagree. I simply worry that your past association with one of the key players will make the revelation seem like revenge for getting you sacked.”

“You don't truly believe that of me,” said Hermione, stung.

“Of course I don't,” said Filius. “But _The Daily Prophet_ will.”

Hermione thought about the greedy look on Rita Skeeter's face at the press conference and all the horrible things the _Prophet_ had already printed about her. “Then I think it's time _The Quibbler_ had an exclusive, don't you?”

  


Several days later, Hermione wandered the outskirts of Hogsmeade and came to a stop outside the Shrieking Shack. She had no idea how long it would take the post owl to deliver her missives, or even if the intended recipients would bother to turn up, but she thought it would be wise to arrive over an hour before her proposed meeting time in order to confirm her suspicions.

She walked around the outside of the shack, and she was satisfied to see that the building appeared to be of an age with the other medieval buildings in the town, much older than the boards over the doors and windows that had been placed there to make it safe for Remus Lupin's transformations.

After glancing behind her to ensure that she was alone, she Banished the boards covering the front door with a wave of her wand. The door's latch and handle had long since been removed, but Hermione was able to push the door open with her shoulder, despite the protests of the rusted hinges.

By the light of her wand, the room looked very much as she remembered it from that awful night twenty years ago, and she felt a bit sick to her stomach to see that the floorboards where Severus Snape had fallen were still stained with his blood.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as she collected herself. Severus Snape was alive and well, and she had work to do.

There were still candles in the wall sconces, which she lit in order to more easily examine the broken, moth-eaten furniture that littered the main floor amidst the empty crates that Voldemort and the Death Eaters had brought when using the shack as a hideout.

“ _Reparo_!” she said, aiming at a pile of wooden scraps that had been shoved into the corner, and to her satisfaction, most of a very small chair took shape—a chair precisely the correct size for a goblin.

Cheered by this discovery, Hermione cleared the crates away from the hidden door that concealed the tunnel to the castle grounds and pulled it open. She lit her wand and hunkered down to look inside. The smell of earth and dust took her back once more to the night that she, Harry, and Ron had last crawled through the tunnel, and she swallowed back the lump that formed in her throat, remembering. But with the benefit of twenty years of experience and questions raised by her findings in the Headmaster's Library, she recognised the wooden architecture holding the ceiling and walls of the tunnel as goblin. She shook her head, wondering why it had never occurred to her to ask why the tunnel, which Lupin had claimed was built for his use, was far too small to accommodate a fully-grown human.

Satisfied that the tunnel was precisely as she recalled it, Hermione closed the door and began to walk along the perimeter of the room, rapping on the wall with her hand and tapping her foot on the floor, listening for any unexpected echo. When she got to the stairs, she realised that the entire area beneath them was concealed by a suspiciously intact wattle-and-daub wall. In fact, it was the only wall on the main floor that appeared untouched by the passage of time or the werewolf who had spent his transformations there.

Hardly daring to breathe, Hermione raised her wand. “ _Dissendium!_ ”

To her delight, the wall slid open with a slight rumble, revealing a filthy crawlspace in whose floor was embedded an ancient metal trapdoor that looked very much like the one Hermione had found in the Tricklebanks' potting shed.

Hermione couldn't suppress a cry of triumph. This was it. This was the physical proof she needed that goblins had once been welcome at Hogwarts. She put several fingers through the small iron ring and tugged, but to her dismay, it didn't open. She belatedly realised that without Fleur's concealing enchantment, whatever magic was on the door didn't recognise her right to enter.

Only slightly daunted, Hermione explored the rest of the house, including the upstairs bedroom that had obviously been furnished for Remus's use. She was about to return to the main floor when she heard the pop of someone Apparating into the downstairs room. Holding her wand in a defensive position, she descended the stairs and found Severus Snape gazing at the bloodstained floorboards with an unreadable look on his face.

He looked up at her approach.

“I took the liberty of casting an anti-Eavesdropping spell,” he said. “It wouldn't do for me to be discovered here.”

“Thank you,” she said, lowering her wand. “You're early.”

“As are you.”

“I wanted to test a hypothesis,” she said, gesturing towards the newly-opened crawlspace under the stairs. “I think you'll be interested in my preliminary findings.”

He ducked his head into the space, and his eyes widened at the sight of the trapdoor.

“That is interesting” he said. “Where does it go?”

“No idea,” said Hermione. “I only just found it, and I don't actually know any goblin magic, so I can't open it anyway.”

“So you did have help,” said Snape, smirking.

“Of course I did,” said Hermione. “But that's neither here nor there. You and I need to talk about Nigel P. Tricklebank.”

“I don't believe that we do,” said Snape, tearing his eyes away from the tantalising trap door and adopting a bored expression. “As far as I see it, it's quite simple. You and Hodrod wish for his son to attend Hogwarts. I want Hodrod to fail at every enterprise he undertakes for the rest of his life, including his attempt to foist his whelp on Hogwarts. So as you can see, we are at an impasse. I sincerely hope you didn't bring me here simply to discuss that.”

“Why else would I have invited you here?”

Snape laughed bitterly. “I rather expected to be arrested.”

“If I'd wanted you arrested, you'd be in Azkaban.”

Apparently, the expression on her face was sufficient to convince him that she spoke the truth, because his shoulders relaxed slightly. “At the very least, I thought I'd be interrogated about how I survived. Or perhaps questioned on how I've been living for the past twenty years. Maybe even subjected to an earnest plea for me to re-join the magical community. Or, Merlin forbid, you should be concerned over the state of my injuries.”

“You didn't seem particularly receptive to any of those things the last time we spoke,” said Hermione, crossing her arms. “In fact, I seem to recall you sending me off so that you wouldn't have to endure my solicitude or concern. You'll pardon me if I don't wish to open myself up to your ridicule again.”

Snape gave an exasperated sigh. “You needn't convince me of the justness of your cause, you know. I sabotaged every one of the Dark Lord's efforts to subjugate the goblins. I was the one who allowed Griphook to escape.”

“But your petty vendetta against Hodrod is more important than the perfect opportunity to expose the injustices of the past?” asked Hermione.

“Petty!” exclaimed Snape. He made a visible effort to calm himself. “I rather thought you and Miss Lovegood had already exposed the injustices of the past,” he said. “I must congratulate you on seizing the opportunity to advance your political agenda and humiliate your ex-husband in one neat exposé.”

“I thought the piece was quite even-handed,” said Hermione. “Chipping Clodbury was an absolute dog's breakfast, and there's more than enough blame to go around. It was high time that it stopped being used by both sides as an excuse not to negotiate. Or exploited by disgruntled Potions Masters to keep a political enemy's son out of Hogwarts.”

“I suppose you think you've beaten me,” said Snape, baring his teeth.

“Not at all,” said Hermione. “But I'm sure you'll agree that I'm in a better position to negotiate now.”

“I concede nothing,” said Snape. “You've still given me no reason to suspend my efforts to see Hodrod punished.”

Hermione put her hands on her hips. “I suppose that given your treatment of Harry over the years it would be futile to appeal to your sense of fairness by pointing out that Nigel is not Hodrod and he's done nothing to deserve your wrath?”

Snape's face reddened. “You dare to speak of that? I saved that boy's life more times than you can possibly know. “

“And I suppose humiliating him and his friends at every opportunity was part of your lifesaving strategy.”

“Of course it was!” spat Snape. “Do you think I could have explained treating the lot of you kindly and professionally to the Dark Lord? A Muggle-born, a Blood Traitor, and the Boy Who Lived?”

“You were a teacher, and you abused your position to torment an orphan whose family treated him as an inconvenience,” said Hermione, her voice cold. “Voldemort allowed it and Dumbledore allowed it because they both needed you. You may have convinced yourself that your treatment of Harry was merely self-preservation, but how can I possibly believe there's any truth to that when you are doing something equally cruel and even less justified to Nigel Tricklebank? The deck is already stacked against him, as the first goblin to attend Hogwarts in centuries. You've only made it worse by raising the spectre of Chipping Clodbury.”

“A spectre you have most ably banished with your little story in Miss Lovegood's publication,” said Snape, letting his tone of voice express his opinion of _The Quibbler_.

“As if the truth is going to convince anybody who believes that all goblins are greedy, bloodthirsty monsters,” said Hermione.

Snape crossed his arms, which sent the sleeves of his robe whipping around him as he began to pace. “I trust you didn't bring me here to berate me for my classroom deportment twenty years ago,” he said. “If you would be so kind as to come to the point, I believe that we may both go our separate ways and, if we are very fortunate, never see one another again.”

“One may dearly hope,” said Hermione, whose ire was beginning to recede, but not enough to be magnanimous. She glanced at her wristwatch. “However, the other attendee of this meeting won't be here for another half hour.”

Snape spun to stare at her. “Oath-breaker!” he spat. “I'm going.”

“Calm yourself, Severus,” said Hermione, savouring the sibilants in his name. “I've revealed your presence to no-one who wasn't aware of it already.”

“I would be perfectly justified in leaving right now.”

“You would,” agreed Hermione. “But I think you're every bit as curious as I am about where that hatch leads,” she said, gesturing to the trapdoor under the stairs. “I think thirty minutes would allow for a cursory exploration, don't you?”

Snape scowled at her. “Perhaps you have learnt a thing or two about negotiating in the past twenty years.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I don’t suppose you would allow me to go alone.”

“Given that we have no idea what's underneath that plate, do you really think that wise?” asked Hermione. “We might find one another insufferable, but we managed to escape goblin territory together once already.”

“If anything I suppose I could always Stun you and leave you for the goblins,” grumbled Snape.

“If you'd care to try your chances with no-one to watch your back, be my guest,” she shot back. “Do you need a wand?”

“I have one,” said Snape, withdrawing a birch wand from his robes. She didn't miss the look of distaste he gave it, but she nodded, holstering her wand.

“We needn’t bother with a complete disguise,” said Snape. “All we need do is change our sizes and mask our magic.”

“Seem reasonable,” said Hermione.

“Besides,” said Snape. “You really do make a hideous goblin.”

Unfortunately, Snape's shrinking spell hit her before she could retort.

Once Snape had cast the necessary spells on both of them, he gestured for Hermione to precede him. “It's your discovery.”

Hermione strongly suspected that his chivalry was more due to the possibility of goblin protective spells than any sense of fair play, but she slid her fingers into the iron ring and pulled.

Nothing happened.

“It's sealed,” she said.

Snape swore. “No spell I know can breach goblin metal,” he said.

Hermione drew her wand. “Fortunately, we don't need to breach the metal. _Defodio_!”

The floorboards cracked noisily, revealing a stone foundation. Hermione cast the gouging spell several more times until she hit earth, and again for good measure. To her delight, the wooden framework supporting the tunnel's framework came into view, and in the light of Snape's wand, she could see the cart platform below.

“Come on!” she said, wriggling through the newly opened aperture.

Snape sighed. “You might have caused slightly less damage.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and set to exploring the platform while Snape lowered himself. It was nearly identical to the one she'd found at the Tricklebank house, except that the platform was rough-hewn stone that made it appear far more ancient. To her dismay, the cart tracks were pitted with age, and after a moment, it was obvious that no cart was ascending to meet them. Now what?

She glanced at Snape, who was surveying the platform dispassionately. He apparently came to the same conclusion she had and sighed. “At least we probably don't have to worry about being shot this time.”

It took Hermione a moment to realise that he was planning to fly the two of them down. She stepped awkwardly up to Snape and held out her arms at waist height.

“Though it pains me to suggest,” said Snape, “I believe we'll both be more comfortable during our descent if you were to put your arms around my neck. It'll be easier to keep us both upright, I have no injuries to risk aggravating, and if you light your wand behind my head, my robes won't interfere with the light.”

“Of course,” said Hermione, lighting her wand and wondering for a moment what the world had come to when she could have her arms around Severus Snape's neck without the least temptation to wring it. His arms closed around her waist, and she found herself pressed up against him, her head tucked securely beneath his chin. His arms tightened, and they rose off the ground.

Their descent was graceful and controlled, and Hermione found that while hanging around Snape's neck was not the most comfortable of positions, she could see perfectly well with her head turned to the side, her cheek pressed up against the hard row of buttons on the front of his robes.

Odd. He was wearing his old teaching robes. Was it because he had no other clothes, or had it been a deliberate decision to remind her of her place? Regardless, his robes were clean and smelled faintly of lemon verbena, and the sound of his low, even breathing was comforting, if not pleasant.

She was pleased to see that Snape was rotating them slowly as they descended, which afforded both of them a view of the tunnel and the cart track. Unfortunately, apart from the moment that the pebbly earth gave way to bedrock, there was nothing remotely interesting to see.

As had been the case when she rode the cart to Hodrod's house, Hermione had little sense of the passing of time. If she quieted her breathing, she could hear the soft tick of her wristwatch, but that didn't give her any idea how quickly they were descending or how much longer she might have to be pressed up against a man that hated her. Not that she blamed him. This was a man who'd given so much of his life to making up for his childish decision to follow Voldemort. He deserved better than to have his motives called into question, even though she couldn't bring herself to regret the words she'd said in righteous anger.

Still, he hadn't dropped her yet, so there was that.

“I see something,” he murmured, his chest rumbling against her ear.

Hermione tipped her head down, and a few moments later, she could see a rough-hewn stone platform, though one much larger than the one below the Shrieking Shack.

They alighted upon it in silence, and Hermione released her hands from Snape's neck. He paused for a moment before unwrapping his arms from her waist, presumably waiting until he'd had a good look around.

He lit his wand, and the cavern in which they stood was thrown into chiaroscuro. The platform they stood on was surrounded by dozens of cart tracks, all leading off into different directions.

As if by unspoken agreement, they walked in different directions along the platform. Hermione could see what appeared to be signs written in Gobbledygook.

“What is this place?” she asked Snape, who was shining the light from his wand on an enormous sign, whose characters were several feet high.

To her surprise, he was laughing quietly to himself. “It's Platform 9¾,” he said.

“This is where goblin parents said goodbye to their Hogwarts-bound children?” asked Hermione.

“Obviously,” said Snape impatiently. “But that's also what that rather large sign says.”

Hermione cleared her throat, embarrassed, and hopped down from the platform to a track that was laid across a gravel-strewn depression and up to an enormous wall that was constructed of uneven stones that had been set together with remarkable precision.

“Severus, what do you make of this?” she asked, casting the light of her wand against a goblin-sized section of wall that had been filled in with downright carelessness, with thick and messy mortar joins.

“I think we've found our way into wherever this is,” he said.

Hermione pulled out her wand, and Severus hissed at her. “Don't! We haven't any idea if there are wards against wand use here.”

“Well,” said Hermione, glancing at her watch. “We've only got five minutes left before our meeting. Unless you think we can pick through this wall in five minutes without magic, we might as well blast our way through, see what's on the other side, and make our escape. What are we worried about, the goblins finding out that they were once allowed to attend Hogwarts?”

Snape sighed. “You are too bold for your own good.”

“I'm just bold enough for the both of us,” said Hermione. “Now, unless you have any further objections.”

Snape drew his wand. “On three. One. Two. Three!”

“ _Reducto_!”

Their unison curse made short work of the masonry, and to Hermione's surprise and delight, there was no alarm. Perhaps wand use was unremarkable here at some point in the distant pass. Still, she doubted that it would be the case on the other side of the wall, so she transfigured two of the broken stones into lanterns, lit them, and handed one to Snape.

He shook his head at her in amazement and accepted a lantern.

Hermione extended the lantern out in front of her and stepped through the dusty opening. To her dismay, she found herself standing at the end of a long corridor that was lined with iron grates. The torches along the corridor made the room resemble nothing so much as a medieval prison.

There was a loud cry in Gobbledygook from further down the corridor, which made Hermione realise that Snape hadn't cast a translation charm, and now that they'd left the platform, she doubted it would be safe to cast it.

“What in blazes?” muttered Snape.

“What is it?” asked Hermione.

“Come on!” said Snape, grabbing her hand and practically dragging her down the corridor.

As they passed, there were more shouts in Gobbledygook as the denizens of the prison cells recognised the fact that there were two Shrunk humans in their dungeon. While Hermione knew no words of Gobbledygook, she was shocked to hear someone shouting their names.

Snape stopped short. “I know where we are,” he said. “This is the subdungeon of the Brotherhood of Goblins complex. Come, we've no time to lose.”

Hermione had no choice but to follow Snape down the seemingly endless corridor until they stopped next to a cell containing two familiar-looking goblins: Griphook and Hodrod.

“Severus, how on earth did you get here?” asked Griphook, who to Hermione's surprise was speaking English.

“No matter,” answered Snape, also in English. “You're coming with us. Do you have it?”

“Of course,” said Griphook, drawing a black wand from an inside pocket of his vest. 

Hermione felt her eyes grow wide. Why on earth did Griphook have Snape's wand? And why did his vest pocket have an Undetectable Expansion Charm on it?

Snape frowned. “Why didn't you use it?”

“What would be the point?” asked Griphook. “I had nowhere to go. Besides, if they'd found how I did it, they'd have found—” he cut off abruptly and glanced at Hodrod.

Hodrod snarled something in Gobbledygook.

“Silence,” said Snape. “You're fortunate to be in Griphook's cell. Otherwise, I would happily leave you here to rot.”

The other prisoners were making an enormous racket, and Hermione could hear them banging patterns of three on the grates of their cells and pounding them on the floor with their feet.

Griphook, however, was focussed on Snape. “I'll stay here if you need me to. I owe you much, and I unwittingly led you astray.”

“Don't be an ass,” said Snape roughly. “Do it.”

Griphook reached into his vest once more and to Hermione's shock withdrew a silver sword whose hilt was studded with rubies.

Hermione didn't need to understand Gobbledygook to realize that Hodrod was swearing furiously at Griphook. Fortunately, Griphook didn't seem too terribly concerned. He raised the sword above his head and swung it at the lock on the door to their cell with all of his strength.

There was a musical clang as the lock was sheared from the door and the cell swung open. Unfortunately, it was quickly followed by a deafening klaxon that was most certainly an alarm that would summon guards.

Hodrod gave a snarl and shoved his way past Griphook and began to run down the corridor toward the cart platform. To Hermione's shock, Griphook raised Snape's wand and cast a silent Stunner, which caught Hodrod in the back. Hodrod slumped to the floor, unmoving.

“He ought to have negotiated safe passage for himself,” said Griphook with a sharp-toothed smile. “My apologies for not responding to your owl, Miss Granger. I was unavoidably detained.”

Hermione laughed. “We may yet make it to the Shrieking Shack in time for our meeting.”

“Come on!” shouted Snape, seizing both of their hands and yanking them in the direction of the cart platform.

The three of them raced down the corridor, and over her shoulder, Hermione could just make out a line of red-uniformed guards pouring into the corridor. “Can you fly all three of us?” she panted at Snape.

“Once we're to the platform, return me to my proper size,” he shouted.

There was a sizzling sound as a red-hot bullet whizzed past her ear. That was all the incentive she needed to put on an extra burst of speed.

None too soon, they broke the plane of the platform.

“ _Finite Incantatem_!” shouted Hermione at the same time that Snape and Griphook cast “ _Reparo_ ” on the wall behind them. The light of Hermione's lanterns flickered out as they reverted to stones and the wall sprang back into place.

Hermione and Griphook lit their wands as Snape, now twice as tall as he had been, held out his arms to them. She could just make out shouts on the far side of the wall as Snape seized them both and shot upwards towards the Shrieking Shack. There was a loud explosion and a corona of flame erupted behind them, filling the air with soot and singeing their hair and skin.

Hermione seized Griphook's arm and pulled herself more tightly against Snape, gasping as the flames greedily sucked the oxygen out of the tunnel. Stars danced in the dark corners of her vision, and she focussed on hanging on as tightly as she could.

As if from far away, Hermione heard Snape's voice say, “Impact in three. Two. One.”

And then everything went black.

  


After all the discovery and excitement of the past week, the rest of the summer felt like something of an anti-climax.

Once Hermione, Severus, and Griphook had been released from the Hogwarts Infirmary, Severus and Griphook disappeared into parts unknown, presumably to negotiate with the Brotherhood of Goblins from a far superior position and in open possession of the Gryffindor Sword.

The twin revelations of the truth behind Chipping Clodbury and that goblins, centaurs, and house elves had all once openly attended Hogwarts temporarily silenced both goblin and wizard critics alike, but the _coup de grâce_ was Fleur’s July issue. Soon, the plight of those with mixed blood and the fight for wand rights were the new _causes célèbres_ among the relatively staid home-maker set, and Fleur’s blunt editor’s statement was reprinted in every reputable publication, as well as _The Quibbler_. The stream of Howlers dried up, and Hermione and Filius made excellent progress restoring the castle's enchantments to adjust for nonhuman students.

In early July, Hermione accompanied Nigel P. Tricklebank to Diagon Alley to purchase his school supplies, including a wand. The elder Mr. Ollivander was nowhere to be seen, but the younger Mr. Ollivander was perfectly willing to accept the Galleons that Nigel offered him in exchange for the smallest ironwood wand Hermione had ever seen. Whispers and suspicious looks followed them, but Hermione was pleased that they met no outright resistance. The fact that Hodrod was still being held in goblin prison on conspiracy charges was undoubtedly a mitigating factor.

In late July, Hermione steeled herself and paid a visit to her children, who were staying at the Burrow with Molly, Arthur, and Ron. To her surprise, the elder Weasleys were warmer to her than they'd ever been since the divorce, and Ron had weathered the revelations of Chipping Clodbury and his short suspension from active duty with good humour.

“It's a relief to have it all out in the open, really,” he confided in her while Rose and Hugo were inefficiently de-gnoming the garden. “How are you holding up?”

“Well,” said Hermione, and meant it, squeezing his hand.

“Harry and I are going out for drinks next Thursday for his birthday,” said Ron. “You can come, if you like. I mean, Harry and I would like it if you came.”

Hermione returned to the castle with a light heart.

The week before start of term was even more hectic than usual, since Griphook had agreed to join the staff as Goblin Liaison, and the other teachers were required to take crash courses in goblin culture and etiquette. There was also a class that Griphook called “sensitivity training,” which was universally proclaimed to be pointless, obvious, and redundant, though Hermione had to admit that she heard fewer pejorative terms for goblins, Muggleborns, and those of mixed blood afterwards.

The afternoon before start of term, Hermione was quadruple-checking her class and duty rosters as a post owl flew into her tower buoyed the warm summer breeze.

She was surprised to find that it was a letter from Severus, requesting a meeting with her in the Shrieking Shack in two hours' time. She glanced at the stack of paperwork she had yet to quadruple-check, whose colour-coded tabs were perfectly in order, and decided that triple-checked work was most likely sufficient.

She arrived at the Shrieking Shack twenty minutes early and was surprised to see that the door and windows had been replaced, and someone had patched and whitewashed the exterior walls. She knocked on the door, which opened by itself.

The main floor had been completely transformed and resembled nothing so much as a smaller version of The Severed Head, the pub where Hermione had first confronted Snape, Griphook, and Hodrod.

“Oh!” exclaimed a female voice.

Gangert, Nigel's mother, was wiping down the bar. “Stonker said you would be here at six,” she said in heavily accented but serviceable English. “Dinner isn't quite ready yet.”

“That's perfectly all right,” said Hermione, drinking in the remarkable transformation. “I'll just have a look around, if you don't mind.”

“Please,” said Gangert, shouting something in Gobbledygook into the kitchen. “I hope you'll like what we've done with it.”

“It's remarkable,” said Hermione, glancing under the stairs to see that the goblin-sized trap door had been replaced with one that was large enough to accommodate wizards. There seemed to be two of everything: bars, table and chair heights, printed menus in English and Gobbledygook.

“Now that goblins and wizards can move freely, I hope we will do a good business,” said Gangert.

“It'll be a slow start,” said a familiar voice from the kitchen. “But immediate profit isn't really the goal.”

Severus Snape emerged from the kitchen wiping his hands on a stained apron.

“Stonker said you teach at your children's school,” said Gangert. “That's what gave me the idea.”

“I think it's brilliant,” said Hermione, grinning at Gangert and Severus in turn.

“I'm glad you feel that way,” said Severus. “Because you're about to serve as a test subject.”

“Oh?”

“We must test the palatability of the food for a standard human palate,” said Severus. “I'm afraid that after twenty years of goblin food, I'm a poor judge.”

“Are you asking me to have dinner with you?” asked Hermione, unable to keep a smile of pleasure from spreading across her face.

“Only if you promise not to disguise yourself as a goblin,” said Severus. “I fear that would ruin my appetite.”

“So you admit I that make a far more attractive witch than I do goblin,” said Hermione nodding her thanks as Gangert placed two flagons of goblin ale on the table, along with a plate of delectable-smelling stuffed mushrooms.

“I should hate to damn your attractiveness with faint praise,” drawled Severus, raising his flagon. “A toast,” he said. “To new relationships and meaningful reconciliation.”

“May this be the first of many,” said Hermione, clinking her flagon against his.

And it was.

  


The End

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enormous thanks to the incomparable Mr. 42 for his lightning-fast precision beta read and Melusin_79 for an unofficial but greatly-appreciated Brit-pick. Thanks also to Iulia_Linnea for all her hard work running the sshg_promptfest at LiveJournal! Thanks also to my anonymous prompter for such a wonderful, complicated story prompt that gave me the excuse to write the goblin story I've wanted to write since Griphook's star turn in DH.


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